We're a gluten for punishment

Alternately titled:

Soy ya later

or

Don't you dairy eat that

-----

Jello makes me gag. Not the taste but the texture. One day when I was in elementary school, I had a stomach ache. Some kid sitting beside me at lunch one day scooped all of his red jello into his mouth, looked at me and squished it through his teeth, spitting it onto his lunch tray.

I puked my own red jello all over myself and the table. To this day the texture of jello makes me queasy.

My point is, food affects us. All of us. Though my example above is a trivial one, you see my point. Nearly 25 years ago a simple thing changed the way I interact with a specific food.

We have a precious child who brings life, laughter and joy into our home. However, with her comes DRAMA. And I'm not talking about your typical drama where someone hits her or takes her toy and she looses it (though that happens as well). I'm talking about IRRATIONAL DRAMA.

Like, "THERE'S AN ANT!!! I'M GOING TO DIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!! THE ANT IS GOING TO KILLLLLLLL MEEEEEEE!!!!" (Insert screams likened to those of someone being seared by hot coals repeatedly.)

Granted, our little treasure doesn't say those specific words because she's usually too busy drooling, screaming and clawing her way to the furthest corner of the house to use actual words. But you get the idea.

Bugs freak her out to put it mildly. She can fall down and scrape her knee open to bleeding and have a normal response. But if she bumps - or possibly barely scrapes her leg - on something much less painful, wails and thrashing ensues and our treasure LOSES HER EVER LOVING MIND.

Sand goes directly into her hair and impulse control? It's non-existent. She's been loosely diagnosed with sensory processing disorder, though I'm sure none of her medical charts say those exact words. But our sweet girl is certainly sensory seeking. Screaming, yelling, hammering, loud clapping, whooping and slapping are just a few of the (more annoying) ways our princess seeks sensory input.

Her impulsivity goes beyond the normal irrational impulsivity of children her age. If I directly ask her not to do something, she will look at me, smile and then do the exact thing I just told her not to do, despite knowing the consequence of her disobedience. She was drumming on the couch one afternoon near where Abigail was laying. Casually, I said "Please be careful or you will hit Abigail and hurt her." Our girl looked at me, looked at Abigail, a sly smile crept across her face and before I could yell "NO!" she hauled off and slapped Abigail in the face. Which is NOT in character for her. She loves her baby sister, all of our girls do. And they all dote on her endlessly with kisses and coos.

I feel like we are very consistent parents and we administer consequences for disobedience quickly and routinely. In fact, our little sweetie can often tell us the result of her disobedience when we sit down to talk with her before her consequence is administered.

Our treasure goes to one hour of Occupational Therapy per week and gets weekly adjustments at the chiropractor. Even still, our sweet baby girl just continues to display the behaviors listed above, plus a few that I've omitted.

I am quickly coming to the end of the knowledge that I have.

In December/January I read this book on child discipline (and I recommend it highly!) and through a series of events and conversations, realized that one of our pediatricians has done quite a bit of research on diet and how the food our children (and adults) eat can impact ADD/ADHD, sensory processing and host of other commonly diagnosed disorders.

We had some blood work done on our sweet girl and while none of it was absolutely, without a doubt conclusive, our pediatrician has suggested we do a two week trial period where we exclude all gluten, soy and dairy.

So, we're going to give it a try. I went grocery shopping today and MAN it was hard to find things without gluten, soy AND dairy. Usually eliminating one wasn't difficult but all 3 is very hard.

So, my friends, what do you suggest? Have you ever lived gluten, dairy and soy free or any combination of those?

We are a fairly healthy eating family and I typically cook the vast majority of our meals. But I know this trial period will not be easy. Our prayer is that we try for two week and either see a MAJOR improvement or none at all. At least then we can know where to go from there.

Thank goodness Jello isn't a staple food of a gluten, soy and dairy free diet. Or else, I'd be a gluten for punishment, wouldn't you say?

Ba doom ching.

Oh deer!

Alternately titled: "A series of poor wildlife rescue choices"

It's never a dull moment around here, that's for sure. And most times, the kids are only a sliver of the reason it's exciting.

Let me preface this by saying that I was raised in the country. I went huntin' and fishin' with my Daddy plenty a' times. "Goin' up to tha huntin' club" was a regular event for me as a young girl. Often, I was the only girl there. I've spent a lot of time in the woods, let's just say. (Which, you would think would equate to the fact that I know better. We rarely take our own advice, do we?)

So when Elizabeth and I went on a bike ride Thursday night and a friend in our "neighborhood" told us about a fawn in a nearby bush, I didn't think much about it. However, after a quick trip back by our house, Elizabeth begged to go see the fawn.

Okay. No big deal, right? We rode our bikes just a little ways from our house, park them and walk over to the bush where the fawn had been spotted. Since I had experience with fawns and Mommas hiding their babies, I figured it would be hard to find.

Um. Not so much.

See that large mass of concrete behind Elizabeth? Yeah. Momma deer hid her baby in a landscaped median of a parking lot.

My friend Shannon said on facebook, "You are the third family I've seen in the last 24 hours to find fawns. Seems like animals are becoming questionable parents just like humans."

That made me laugh. The truth is funny.

Anyway, as Elizabeth and I sat looking at the not-so-hidden baby fawn, Elizabeth asked, "Can I pet it?"

I rolled the thought around in my mind and figured she was already arm distance away from it. I told her to take a small scoot toward the baby. As she did, the baby became uneasy. Not wanting to disturb the poor thing, I told her, "Baby, it's getting scared. Let's back away and leave it alone."

As she and I scooted away, we spooked the little guy (gal?) anyway and it jumped up and ran into the road.

Awesome. Way to be a protector of nature, Jessica.

Elizabeth began yelling the thoughts that were already in my head, "Mom! IT'S IN THE ROAD! It's gonna DIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!"

I walked toward "Bambi" (as Elizabeth later so originally named it) and Bambi began to run with long, lanky, unbalanced strides across the road and toward a nearby home. Without giving too much info for internet creepers: where we live, though in a residential area, it's not uncommon to see lots of deer, squirrels, etc. We sort of live in a community with other folks, but off the beaten path. All of that to say, wildlife isn't exactly afraid of people in our neighborhood.

Ahem, anyway. Bambi wasn't in any REAL danger of being hit by a car (though it was possible) but more so I was now worried that her (his?) Momma wouldn't be able to find her (him?) later. Even though her hiding spot sucked, it was still her hiding spot, ya know?

Bambi, stupidly, jumped down into a stairwell that led to the basement of a nearby house. Elizabeth and I stood at the top of the stairwell and looked at a very frightened little deer and wondered what in the world we should do.

I texted and called anyone I could think of that could google, "What do you do when you spook a baby deer?" but alas, no one answered or replied to my cries for help. It's times like then that I would enjoy the luxury of a smartphone.

Anyway, I panicked and did what any girl does when she panics, I called my Mom. Together, we decided that the baby deer wasn't hidden very well and now that it was spooked it would surely die at the hands of nature and that I should catch the pitiful thing and take it home.

Divinely, my Mom was just around the corner after finishing an exercise class and she promised to come over straight away and help me get our bikes and Bambi the whole 1/4 mile back to our house.

While I waited on her to arrive, I eased into the shallow stairwell and cornered Bambi. It crossed my mind that this little precious thing might kick or bite me. I grabbed Bambi by the hind quarters and he (she?) let out a loud bleet. At that point, I half expected a Momma deer to appear from nowhere and begin ramming me in the backside with her head.

This scene from Tommy Boy played through my head as I climbed into my Mom's minivan and we drove the quarter mile back to our house. I had a death grip on this poor deer and his (her?) heart was pounding wildly. Poor little fella was terrified.

We got home and I could hear Abigail screaming the minute I opened the car door. She reserves a special hate cry for Luke. It's sad really. However, I knew if I tried to pass Bambi off to someone else there was a high probability that he (she?) would kick free and then we'd be back to chasing a baby deer all over God knows where. So I clung to Bambi tightly and asked my Mom to relieve Luke from the wails of his 3 month old daughter.

When I got inside, I received a less-than-thrilled greeting from my husband. I wasn't exactly sure how long Bambi had been left unattended so I did what any normal, rational, self-respecting mother would do.

I thawed out some breastmilk and attempted to give Bambi a bottle.

Isn't he (she?) a doll? Oh my word. And she (he?) took about an ounce, too! Once Bambi got a taste of the milk, I think he (she?) realized where it came from because it began to lick - and then tried to nibble - at my shirt. Ahem, you know, in the "upper" region.

Meanwhile, my Mom had managed to calm Abigail down a little bit but she was still in desperate need of her Momma, if you know what I mean.

My next thought turned to where in the world could I put this deer down without A) our dog killing it and B) it not destroying our house.

I needed to google something fierce and figure out what in the heck we're going to do with this little thing because if we wait too long, Elizabeth's going to have a leash on it and be walking it around the neighborhood. And, ahem, you know, I only have so much breastmilk in my freezer.

So I sent Elizabeth to gather up some baby blankets and we made a little bed for Bambi in the best place I could think, the bathtub.

I sort of wondered what was going to happen when I put this baby down. Will it freak out and gash our heads open with it's hooves? Will it slip on the bathtub and tile floor and break it's leg?

Turns out baby deer lay down where you put them. Probably because, you know, THAT'S WHAT THEIR MOMMAS TRAIN THEM TO DO. Ahem. You know.

I fed Abigail and began googling "what do you do with a fawn" like a mad woman. Nearly every.single.flippin. article I read says, "DO NOT TAKE A FAWN HOME IF YOU FIND IT."

Duh, I think. But they clearly don't know my circumstances. I read on.

More instructions say, "If the deer appears to be in danger by it's hidden location, simply watch the fawn from afar. Do not attempt to move the deer or pet it."

Double fail.

Finally, after talking to my Mom and reading virtually everything on google, Elizabeth and I decided to take the fawn back. A few sites said that if you moved a fawn but get it back by dusk, the mother would come back and take it as she had originally planned. At this point it's nearly dark so we hustled to gather up the fawn, load up the car and get back to the rendezvous point before it's totally dark.

As Elizabeth, Bambi and I pulled into the parking lot near Bambi's former hiding place, we see two deer sprint in front of our headlights. Elizabeth, not so calmly screeched, "MOM! THERE'S HIS MOMMY! HURRRRRRRRY THEY'RE RUNNNNNING AWAY! BAMBI'S GONNA DIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!"

I threw the car in park and jumped out with Bambi in my arms. I contemplated throwing Bambi into the air and releasing him (her?) back to her (his?) mother like a dove would take to flight but I figure I'd already failed Bambi enough and a broken leg wouldn't work in his (her?) favor.

I calmly walked over to the less than obscure hiding spot where Bambi was first spotted. Gently, I placed my newly nursed baby Bambi back in his (her?) snuggly, pine-needly bed. He (she?) stood and then took a few steps. I backed away slowly and Bambi faded from my vision thanks to the now pitch black that surrounded us. Elizabeth and I pulled my Mom's minivan to the other side of the parking lot, cut it off and sat and waited hoping that Bambi's Momma would come back quickly.

About 20 minutes later, as Elizabeth and I both are beginning to get quite bored of staring at bushes, Elizabeth spotted a deer! The doe grazed and slowly wandered around the grassy areas near the median that holds the bushes and Bambi. After watching her for about 25 minutes we decided we'd better head home. We started the car and the doe leapt about 30 yards then stopped and stared at us as we drive off.

The next morning we went to check on Bambi and he (she?) was gone! We prayed and we are trusting that God reunited her (him?) with Momma Deer.

Moral of this story?

God is merciful. For about 2 hours my eldest daughter got the privilege of loving on the sweetest little baby deer I've ever seen. She was in heaven and we made some memories that neither of us will ever forget.

And also, don't touch wildlife.

The end.

Survival

Her tiny little grunts, snorts and noises stir me from my sleep. I was in a hard sleep, the kind that you fall into immediately when it's been weeks since you've slept through the night. I throw the covers off of my sweating body and shimmy/scoot to the end of the bed. The pack 'n play is squeezed between my side of the bed and the wall, making it an acrobatic feat for me to get out of bed, but Abigail isn't in the pack 'n play.

I kick the bouncy seat, hold back a scream and realize - all in in the same 3 seconds - that I left her bouncy seat on vibrate. I feel my way through the darkness and click the switch over to the off position. Then, step over the bouncy seat. She's not in there either.

I lean over, turn off the baby swing and reach down to grab my, now crying, baby girl. I snuggle her close, smell her head and kiss her cheek, just like I did the hour before.

Together we perform an acrobatic dance as I climb, with her in one arm, back onto my side of the bed, smacking my other big toe against the foot of the pack 'n play.

"I really should move that pack 'n play," I think, "she's not slept in it in nearly a week."

We settle in, I wrap the boppy around my waist and she begins to nurse. Sleepily, I lay my head back against the hard metal headboard. I doze on and off for the next 30 minutes, until I wake up with a stiff neck and a milk-drunk newborn who is snoozing softly in my arms.

All the books say you should never sleep with your baby. All the books say that you should never let your baby sleep in a swing, or a bouncy seat or propped up on the boppy. All the books say you should only let your baby sleep in her own bed and move her to her crib as soon as possible.

All the books say to sleep when your baby sleeps and to rest as much as possible during her first few weeks of life.

I'm betting none of those books are authored by mothers with lots of small children, most of which do not nap during the day. I'm also willing to bet that those books are written for those days when everything seems to go smoothly, your baby nods off to sleep quietly on your chest and those nursing mommas drink their 64 ounces of water a day.

64 ounces. As if. I'd never leave the bathroom. Or maybe I'd just have to buy disposable underwear. That might work better actually.

I lay my sweet, swaddled blessing beside me in the bed, careful to move the covers far way from her tiny body. She stirs, snorts and grunts in disapproval of me laying her down. I offer for her to nurse again and we both drift off to sleep.

An hour or so later we repeat this same process, because somewhere in the last 30 minutes I've gotten tired of sleeping on my side and I have returned my little babe to the swing or bouncy seat or, just maybe, her pack 'n play.

Finally, I hear the click of the door and a sleepy child's body steps through the door way. "Hey baby," I whisper. "Come. Quietly. Abigail just went back to sleep."

Arms and legs curl up beside me and I listen to stories about crazy dreams or Star Wars or how she can't wait to have her own baby one day, depending on which of the oldest 3 kids is beside me. I drift in and out of sleep until, finally, a two year old shouts her impatience with her crib at me through the monitor.

Our home springs to life as the sounds of laughter, toilets and squeals echo through the hallways.

I remind myself that this is the phase known of as SURVIVAL. In these early days of sleeplessness, frequent feedings and numerous diaper changes, our goal is to survive. Teaching our children that we value family, each other and the freshness of new life is most important.

If they learn some spelling, math, reading and history along the way, then so be it.

Survival.

Nothing more, nothing less. We simply exists to love one another and enjoy the expansion of our family. Some days are better than others. Somedays, all of our schooling gets done and our home is a disaster zone. Other days, the house is tidy and the kids are dirty from a full day of playing outside. Life consists of give and take right now. It's a life that is lived minute by minute, hour by hour and often no further.

As I write this, Abigail is snoozing soundly in her bouncy seat, Ella and Olivia are finishing up naps, Ashlee and Lucas are enjoying an afternoon at their grandmothers' houses and Elizabeth and Aaron are busy dancing under a tree as it blooms in the spring sun.

Life is busy, chaotic, loud, eventful, peaceful, cozy, dramatic, new and all in all, a complicated dance of learning what our new normal looks like.

After all, what is normal anyway? We abandoned that term long ago. Seven kids ages 7 and under isn't normal. It's survival. A beautiful, complicated, peaceful survival.

Which is exactly what we are doing.

Military wives must be as tough as their husbands

11 days ago I took Luke and 5 other men to the airport. Their goal? To take the gospel to the unreached people of Guinea-Bissau, West Africa.

Over the past week, the kids and I have traveled over 1,500 miles visiting friends and family in Tennessee, Mississippi and Arkansas. It was an awesome distraction and I must admit the traveling wasn't nearly as hard as the last 2 days have been with us being back at home and Luke not being here.

I knew that he did a lot for me, around the house, helping with the kids, keeping me sane... you know, normal stuff. But I guess I never realized the details.

Until he was gone, I realized that I can't remember that last time I made the coffee.

Or took out the trash.

Or had to bathe the kids all by myself, multiple times in a week.

Or fed the dog.

Or put gas in the van.

I know those are just simple things, but they are simple things I took for granted.

And, y'all, I'm blessed with incredible friends. I got so many texts this week from people reminding me that they're praying for us. Then yesterday after church I realized we only had a splash of milk left. That wouldn't bode well for us the next morning. I sent out a tweet stating our "crisis" and said maybe I'd take all 6 kids to the store with me. Within minutes I had 2 friends text me offering to bring milk over.  Then, about 10 minutes later, my awesomely amazing friend Amanda was on my doorstep, gallon of 2% in hand.

Y'all, only God designs friendships like that.

The whole week I just kept thinking (in addition to how amazing my friends are) about military wives and how they do this day in and day out for months, sometimes years, at a time.

I have a few friends that are military wives and I've always felt called to pray over them but once more God allowed me a small glimpse into their lives and I know that I need to desperately be on my knees for them as they endure the time between when their spouses leave and when they return.

Y'all I had it so easy. 11 days. That's nothing. And I had a full time helper, my friend Grace, who skipped 2 days of college and took the rest of her fall break to bless me with her help and company.

I pray that the Lord reminds me often the sacrifice military spouses make and to pray for them earnestly. I hope you'll join me and if you know the spouse of a military serviceman or woman that you'll encourage them yourself.

I'm convinced that military wives must be as tough as their husbands, if not tougher. ;)

It's just about noon here and Luke will be home in about 7 hours. I'm so ready I can hardly stand it. Dear Lord, please make this day go by quickly.

Parenting a Strong Willed Child

Parenting a stubborn and strong willed child is interesting to say the least. I really thought Lucas was strong willed as a 2 year old. Little did I realize that God gave me Lucas as merely preparation for Aaron.

Before I launch into all of the difficulties that I face with my sweet 2 year old boy, I want to make one thing very clear. I love this boy of mine. Love him so much that if I dwell on it my insides ache. When he wraps his skinny little arms around my neck and asks for a "tiss" and "ug" my heart almost explodes. His laugh infects my soul and his smile brightens my days. I love him so much more than I ever thought possible. Nearly 3 years ago when the social workers walked him into our home, I never could have imagined how I would love him as my own flesh and blood. And now, it rarely crosses my mind that he's adopted. I cannot imagine our family without him. He's an integral part of what makes our family feel full of joy, life and love.

Earlier this morning, he sat on my lap and cuddled with me as we watched a movie for school. As I rubbed my lips and cheeks across his hair and smelled the top of his head, I thanked God for everyday that I get the privilege to be his Mom. I don't take it lightly that the Lord specifically chose me to be his Mother.

But the truth remains that he tests me on just about every level that a two (nearly 3) year old can. I've known he was strong willed since he was about 8 or 9 months old, when the temper tantrums began if I took a forbidden object from his pudgy fingers. They weren't your ordinary temper tantrums that a typical 8 or 9 month old would display. They lingered and lasted much longer than a baby of that age's memory should allow.

Potty training him has been a constant battle. I've said time and time again that I'm done with trying to break him of diapers. But, every few days he asks to go in the potty and every, single time I think, "Maybe this is it! Maybe he's ready!" So, we strip off the diaper, sit him on the toilet and battle begins.

"Okay Buddy, push out some pee pee and poo poo," I plead.

"No. I done. I go pay," he retorts, before his bottom has even rested firmly on the seat.

"But Bud, you've not even gone potty yet. You want a piece of candy? If you put your poo poo in the potty you can have a GREAT BIG piece of candy!" I try to not let the frustration well up within me as I hear his whining begin.

"No! I go pay!" His excitement with the potty turns to a furrowed frown as he looks at me with his chin nearly touching his chest.

"If you don't potty you can't wear your Thomas undies," I remind him. "You want to wear Thomas, don't you?"

"No! Put.on.my.diaper! I poop in my pants!"

And with those words, I'm done. Because how can I make him go poop in the potty if he understands that he can just go in his (requested) diaper? I've tried candy, TV, more Thomas stuff, everything I can think of to get him to go to the potty and still, NOTTA.

Unless it's on HIS terms.

And I wish it stopped there. Meal times are a battle. EVERY.SINGLE. meal time. He's not a picky eater, per say, but a defiant eater. One night he will dog down some mac and cheese and chicken nuggests. Two days later, he refuses to even take a bite of mac and cheese and gags, spits and chokes when I demand he put some in his mouth.

One day he LOVES potatoes, the next day he shuns all of his dinner because his potatoes are touching the other food on his plate.

And then there's days like yesterday.

Aaron LOVES Mexican food. He has never rejected it when I cook it at home and when we go out to a Mexican restaurant he gets his own bowl of salsa and eats it using a chip to spoon it into his mouth. But on Monday night I made a new recipe. A super yummy, totally edible Quesadillia Casserole. (for real, click on that link and then look for those little packs in your grocery store, tasty stuff!)

It was good! Even our picky eater (Elizabeth) ate two plates of it - and she is super picky! But, since it didn't look good to Aaron, he didn't even take a bite. Instead, he shoved it across the table, frowned and said, "I no wike it!"

The one bite I forced him to put into his mouth (because a few times in the past when he's rejected food he's not even tasted, I've made him take a bite and he's realized he likes it and then eats) he spit into his hand.

So, we began our multi-time a day mealtime routine of excusing Aaron from the table to his room. We do not allow disrespectfulness at our dinner table and he was certainly being disrespectful. We have a rule that everything on your plate MUST be tasted. And, if it's something you've eaten previously and enjoyed then you must finish it before you can get seconds of another item. (Does that make sense?)

Since Aaron refused to taste his dinner and began scowling at everyone in sight he was excused. Then began Aaron's screaming, crying, stomping and fits that are now also a mealtime routine in our house. Once he settled down, we again offered for him to come eat dinner but he refused.

This isn't the first time he's refused to eat something I've cooked so, like the other times, he went to bed without dinner. Man! That is a hard to do! But, I REFUSE to be a short order cook. Everyone else in the house has likes and dislikes too, and I try to make something at every meal that I know will please all of our eaters.

The other rule that we have had to implement for Aaron is that if he rejects a meal all together, we wrap up his plate and he receives it at the next meal. We've done this a couple of times and each time he's initially acted as though he wouldn't eat the reheated leftovers. But, after realizing we were not budging, he ate.

Yesterday was a different story completely. At breakfast I reheated his plate of Quesadillia Casserole. After 30 minutes of him screaming, kicking and whining at the breakfast table, I excused him and told him he would not be offered breakfast any longer and since he'd still chosen to not eat his food, he would be offered it for snack. I rewrapped his plate and put it back in the refrigerator.

At snack time, the same fit followed. While everyone else at their snack he was offered his plate of untouched, reheated food. Again fits, screaming and generally nasty behavior. But this time it was not only fueled by his hatred of the food on his plate, but his food deprived body's hunger. A hungry 2.5 year old is a MEAN 2.5 year old. Anybody picking up what I'm putting down?

I reminded Aaron that he'd need to eat his food if he wanted a snack. He refused. I then told him that if he chose not to eat it now, it would be his lunch.

Repeat the food rejection for lunch and afternoon snack. By the time Aaron woke up from his nap he was fit to be tied. The only thing he'd consumed since afternoon snack the day before was WATER.

Man o mighty he was a jerk. I mean a REAL LIVE JERK. His hunger was overtaking his body and he began flinging his body on the floor or against any hard surface he could find to prove the point that HE WAS PISSED.

Luke and I joked that he was fasting for something and just forgot to tell us. Dude, we would have prayed for him. (Actually, I did.)

Dinner time rolls around. By now, I bet you can guess what happened, can't you? Everyone else gets potatoes, pork chops and carrots. Guess what Aaron was served?

Yep. Reheated Quesadillia Casserole. By this point I'm questioning whether or not it's even healthy for him to consume food that's been reheated so many times. But I knew if we caved at this point all of my efforts all day would have been in vain.

After much crying, screaming, being excused from the table multiple times and allowed to return, Luke basically force fed him the now crusty, dried and totally gross casserole. He ate it while rubbing his tummy and saying, "Yummy, yummy" and slightly gagging. (I'm not even kidding.)

After he ate the (get this) FOUR BITES that it took clean his plate of the wretched Quesadillia Casserole he was offered the same dinner the rest of us ate. He gobbled up the carrots because those are his favorite and then REFUSED TO EVEN TASTE THE REST.

ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?!?!

So guess what Aaron was offered for breakfast this morning? Delightfully reheated pork chops and potatoes.

And, after I sat him down and talked to him, saying, "Buddy. You can have some cereal but you must eat your dinner from last night first. Please eat it Bud. Please don't go all day without eating like you did yesterday."

And after leaving him at the table for 40 MINUTES with a frown on his face, he ate it. Followed by 2 bowls of cereal.

Sweet mercy. I've got Dr. James Dobson's book on order at the library and I hope to have it picked up tonight.

But while I wait to glean some of Dr. Dobson's knowledge, do any of you have any words of wisdom for parenting a strong willed child? I'm all ears. I'd love to talk to you about this in the comments section, so if you comment, check back for replies.

I walk the line

As Elizabeth is seemingly growing up right in front of my eyes, day by day, minute by minute. I'm finding it harder and harder to determine where to draw my line in the proverbial sand. My greatest desire is that she would grow to be a woman who loves the Lord with all her heart, soul, mind and strength. But until she is grown, I know that it is our job, as her parents, to guide and direct her, keeping her under our wing until the proper time.

Lately, my biggest struggle is knowing there are certain aspects of her life where she is ready for me to let go and not be involved in every detail. This firstborn baby of mine can tie her shoes, bathe herself, pick out her own outfits and no longer needs me to help her explain to others what she's trying to say. She is developing friendships that are outside of mine and Luke's circle of friends. Before, all of her friends were the children of our friends. But now, she's established friendships with other kids in her Sunday School class, great kids, but we aren't necessarily great friends with their family.

It's fine line that I'm finding myself walking. The line of knowing when she's big enough to do things I've always done for her and the line of realizing that she's still so little in so many ways. And the part that I think overwhelms me the most about this line I'm walking is knowing this is only the beginning.

My heart both rejoices and grieves these new milestones. I soar with pride as I watch my oldest daughter help a younger sibling just because she wants to. I love watching her tote Olivia around on her hip and "mother" Ella when she casually passes her by. My heart wants to burst when I hear of her making good choices even when we are not around. I take pride in the young girl that she is when I see her encourage a friend on the soccer field. I delight in her heart for the Lord when she shares, without hesitation, just what Jesus means to her. And I'm overwhelmed with the lady she's growing into when she comes to me and takes ownership of a mistake she's made.

Yet I grieve the loss of knowing that with each new step she needs me less and less. She's moving from small child into a big kid with her own thoughts, hobbies, relationships and desires that are separate from mine. She requires less and less of me for her physical needs and our role is shifting into an area where my focus for her is more on her spiritual and mental development rather than just feeding her, redirecting her and making sure she's clean.

And even though I'm thrilled with this new role I find myself in, where I'm less responsible for doing things for her in the day to day, my heart continues to throb over the loss of the days that I know are already gone and the ways that she will never need me to help her again. From here forward it's a dance I will have to learn as I go, knowing when to step in and instruct and when to let her learn for herself, sometimes even watching her fall.

I'm realizing more than ever just what a blessing it is to parent a child who does not rely on you for their every, single physical need. It's a bittersweet moment of holding on and letting go. Yes, I know 6 years old is young and she will still need me for many more years. But I'm getting a sampling of what's to come. A taste of what it looks likes to be a mother to someone who is their own person and no longer just and extension of yourself. I love watching her do things at her own pace, in her own style and with her own processes. I get the hugest thrill out of seeing her create something from her very own mind.

But I'm still learning to walk the line between her being totally dependent on me and allowing her to go and do without me being her security. It's a fine line I'm finding myself walking and I'm so blessed that God has given me this sweet gift. Because truly there's no other line I'd rather walk.

Two gets me everytime

Before I get to the photos of where we went on Saturday, can I just confess something to you?

Just between us, okay? You can't look at me sideways at church, email or call me and ask me if I'm okay, or really think less of me in general, okay? Deal?

Sometimes, I don't really like my two year olds.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE them every day. It's just that somedays I don't like them. And I don't think it's specific to the two year olds that I currently call mine. I remember when another dynamic duo was two and, somedays, I didn't like those two year olds either. Love them so much my heart might explode? Yes. Like them? Notsomuch.

Why are we Moms afraid to admit that there are just some ages that we are not so good at dealing with? I mean, I can handle a crying infant. I can handle it for long periods of time with little-to-no end in sight. I can rock and swing and walk and snuggle an upset baby for the majority of most days. I can handle the sleepless nights and the constant feedings.

But give me a defiant, overly dramatic, completely irrational two year old, who can't adequately articulate what he/she wants to say and then flies into a furry of pissed-offness because I can't understand his/her words...well, it's more than I can handle when it consumes my life every other 5 minutes.

I look at my sweet little Ella and wonder how many more months I have of her awesomeness until that day hits and the two year oldness begins. I'm praying for her to go straight from 16 months to 3 years. I'm doubting that's a providential prayer.

Yesterday was a rough day with my two little two year olds. I love them more than I could ever put into words but yesterday, I didn't like them very much. The irrationalness of throwing a fit because I won't allow a 2nd cup of juice and flinging a body on the floor because I won't allow coloring on the cabinets crawls all over me. As a coping mechanism I ignore irrational behavior and casually step over whomever is writhing on the floor in complete agony because I'm a mean Mom who refuses to allow you to play with the electrical socket.

And while I'm busy dealing with constant meltdowns, I'm wondering how Christlike I am to these irrational, overly dramatic tiny people on a daily basis. I mean, I try so, so, so hard to put myself in their size 5 shoes. I try to think about how hard it must be for them to try to tell me something that they want or need and yet I just can't understand. I try to understand that, often, they have to wait a few minutes and waiting isn't easy for a person with no concept of time or the needs of others. But my frustration level with them is easily increased, much to my ill attempts at keeping my heart and head in check. I've prayed prayers of patience, asking God to fill in the gaps of my humanness and supersede my shortcomings when I feel that tightening in my core because I just can't deal with another meltdown right now.

But most days, I don't really rely on Him to provide me with grace. Most days I just allow the anger and frustration to wash over me and I fly into a sea of redundancy allowing wave after wave after wave of meltdowns to overtake me. And then I lose it.

See? If any of you thought that I had it all together you can now rest assured that I am not at all together. In fact, if together was ever a word you used to describe me then you can purposefully never combine that word with your thoughts of me.

It's just that these two little folks who are obviously going through a phase and thistooshallpass seem to intentionally do the exact things they know they will get a consequence for.

And it drives me bananas.

I'm not suppose to slam the door and you tell me that every.single.day? Oh good.

SLAM THE DOOR! SLAM THE DOOR! SLAM THE DOOOOOR!!!

I'm not suppose to open and shut, open and shut, open and shut the kitchen cabinets? Oh good.

OPEN AND SHUT OPEN AND SHUT OPEN AND SHUT OPEN AND SHUT!

It's not okay for me to play with 3 specific toys that are set aside and out of reach and only for the older kids? Oh look!

I CAN SCALE THE BOOKSHELF AND JUST TOUCH SAID TOY WITH MY ITTY BITTY FINGER UNTIL IT FALLS AND THEN I HIDE AND PLAY WITH IT.

I mean, seriously?! There aren't many things that they are restricted from. I learned that lesson quickly with our first set of two year olds. I choose my battles and make very few things off limits in our home. Toys and play are free and easily managed by these little toddling persons. I mean, afterall, it's their house too and they shouldn't be scolded every 5 seconds just for living. But there are boundaries and there are a small number of toys that they are not allowed to play with. But it seems that is exactly what they want to do.

You know, exactly what they aren't allowed to.

Oh how it drives me crazy. And every time a child of ours comes into this age I forget that two year olds are like this and it blows my mind all over again.

So do me a favor, will you? When Ella hits about 17 months old, will you remind me that her twoness is just around the corner? Hopefully it won't take me by surprise like it has 5 other times. Hopefully.

And if you are a superstar at parenting a two year old, I could use a tip or prayer or two three.

Being a Mom is tough

I just love this post by Courtney.

She's so right, you know. Being a Mom is tough. And you don't need a qualifier of six (or more) kids to admit that. Being a Mom was tough for me when Elizabeth was just an infant. It was SO tough. And, even though I have 6 times the kids that I had way back then, it continues to be just as challenging, just in different ways.

Being a Mom of 1 is equally as difficult as being a Mom of 5 or 6 or 10. Sure the challenges are different as you welcome more children into your home. But I'd venture to guess that if I could play back for myself a video taped day of me, when we just had Elizabeth, Lucas and Ashlee (half the number of kids I have now) that most of the challenges I faced then, I am still facing.

Just because I've acquired lots of children doesn't mean I've figured out this job of wife and mother. I still struggle to keep my house clean. I still have a sink overflowing with dirty dishes. I still have a hard time cutting out a part of me for my husband at the end of the day. I still struggle to find time in God's word. And those are just a few of my many, many struggles. I could go on but I won't because that's not my intention for this post.

The point is, being a Mom is tough.

And all too often, we Moms don't make it easy on ourselves or each other. We impose judgment and cast disapproving glances at one another. We compare ourselves to someone who appears to have it all together and then beat ourselves up over our perceived flaws. We see Mothers who have perfect children and then wrestle with our own kids, begging them, if only in our minds, to be like so-and-so. We wonder why in the world that Mother made that choice with her child and then we wait to see if it will backfire on her.

Being a Mom around other Moms is tough.

Why do we do that to ourselves and to each other? Why don't we just encourage each other and grow with each other rather than playing this game of compare and contrast?

I think it's because we are too afraid of other people seeing our faults and then, later, using them against us. At least that's how I feel. Sometimes I'm too afraid to admit that I haven't dusted since we moved (which was March 1st, if you're keeping track). Sometimes I'm too concerned with the comments I'll get if I admit that I want to get into the car and drive away, in any direction other than my house, without my children in the backseats. Because, after all, it was my choice to have all these kids, wasn't it?

But I'm not perfect. And, I'd guess that you aren't either. And I'd even go further to say that I bet you and I struggle with the exact same things most days. Whether you stay at home or work outside the home, whether you have 1 kid or you have 12 kids, I'd guess that at the end of the day you and I both (finally) sit down and think, "Crap! I can't believe I didn't get ___________ again today!" (Insert: the laundry done, my quiet time, my house cleaned, that project finished etc, etc, etc.)

Life is hard and being a Mom makes it that much more.

So, I'd like to use this post for us Moms (or Dads, if any actually read and want to comment) to encourage each other. I'd like for us to openly uplift each other and, in turn, recognize an area that we are struggling. I'm not asking for deep, dark secrets just the average. Just give me something of surface value if nothing else.

Here are the rules...First you list a way you are struggling to fulfill your role as a mom or wife or girlfriend or daughter or whatever applies to you. It doesn't have to be a deep, personal something just an everyday struggle.

THEN,

you list a way that you think that you are rockin' it as a mom or wife or girlfriend or daughter or whatever applies to you. Feel free to also add a note of advice or encouragement to a commenter before you. But be sure to end on the positive, mmmkay?

For example, if someone above me in the comments said that they were struggling to find a way to NOT loose socks in the laundry I might offer to them what I have found is currently working for our family.

Which is..I've started taking a mesh, lingerie bag and hanging it beside the dirty laundry basket. EVERY SINGLE SOCK that does not belong to myself or my husband goes into the bag. When it's full, I zip it and toss it in the next load of laundry. At the end, all the socks SHOULD be in the bag. Unless your dryer really does eat socks, then you're in a heap of trouble.

Then I tell you how I'm struggling...

I can't figure out a way to stay on top of folding and putting away clean laundry. It just accumulates in a steady pile mountain on our love seat.

And how I'm rockin' it...

I didn't feed my kids McDonald's more than once last week (See, I told you it could be simple!)

or the more profound might be that Luke and I are in the process of purging our house of unnecessary clothing and toys and CRAP and it feels oh-so-good.

See? Simple. And I really know I could use some encouragement and some counsel on all the challenges that come with being a Mom.

So, ladies (or gents) what do you say? Are you in? I sure hope so because I'm already looking forward to your comments! I need to know I'm not the only imperfect Mother and I could sure glean from your wisdom.

Monday, Monday

Wow. Today has been a MON-DAY.

Baby Girl has therapy on Monday mornings and when the therapist showed up I was half dressed and still brushing my teeth.

At lunch, Aaron decided he only wanted apples and yogurt for lunch. Which works out fine except that he likes to swallow all foods completely whole. That works well for yogurt. Notsomuch for apple slices.

Finally, at naptime Lucas decided that he was afraid of his room because of dinosaurs, then zebras, then hungry wolves.

So, I decided to let him rest with Elizabeth while I got some much needed housework blogging done. Instead of napping the two of them played and giggled and ultimately broke Lucas' most prized possession. A "Spirit" horse statue.

Insert massive freak out by Lucas.

He is currently screaming at/for me from his bedroom. I am praying he finally falls asleep so that he won't be a screaming-banshee-terror-child later.

Sigh.

Is it Friday yet?

Stay tuned this week because I am super excited about an amazing Giveaway I have scheduled for Wednesday!

That is, unless Lucas' room continues to be invaded by gorillas or zebras or crocodiles or....

Me Gossip? Never!

I never got along with "those girls" in high school. You know the ones: popular, perfect, gossipy. Not that I went to Beverly Hills High or anything, and in rural Arkansas, what can you seriously call someone that isn't really true? Calling someone a "Barefoot-Farm-Girl" was a true statement, and one that didn't carry a lot of sting, if you will.

At any rate, gossip and hurtfully pointing out the imperfections of others has never really been my thing. Don't get me wrong, I DO gossip (I am a human woman), but in general I find it repulsive. Seriously, M.Y.O.B.

Because ultimately gossip is but one thing. Gossip boiled down and stewed over is purely and ultimately JUDGMENT. Judgment that someone is doing something that you see unfit, inexplicable, gross, wrong or, in some cases, fabulous. For me, it just seems so petty, so worthless, such a waste of time.

Again, please do not see me as standing on some holy pedestal telling all you "sinners" what is right and wrong within the world. I mess up, I say things about other people. But, I'd like to think, that in general, I'm a gossip squealcher rather than a gossip perpetuator. Maybe I'm not, but that's what I like to think of myself, and afterall, this is my blog.

With that said, when I usually hear of people gossiping about me it has very little, to no, effect on me. I mean, if some folks wanna sit around and discuss my: parenting style, dress, vehicle, marriage, etc, etc..GO AHEAD. Geesh, it's really not that exciting. However, I have found in the last few weeks that apparently my family IS the center of some small talk. And you know what? This time it bothered me.

And, seeing as how I now have a captive audience (or at least a venue to display my perception of such non-sense) I'm gonna tell you why this time, it got me.

Most of the time I find that gossip is nothing more than people who actually know very little, pretending to know a lot. I also find that, most of the time, these people may ACTUALLY have well meaning intentions, but they are just out of touch with the reality of the situations or people that they are discussing.

Luke and I knew at the beginning of this foster parenting journey that we were going to be talked about, judged and, unfortunately, gossiped about. However, we had no choice. When God tells you to do something, you have 2 choices...

1) Obey God and allow Him to work out the details.
2) Disobey God and the One who redeemed you.

Clear choice, huh?

Anyway, we knew that fostering while our birth children were still young was crazy. We knew, yet we pushed ahead. When we accepted the call to take Baby Girl in our home, knowing that our family would become multi-racial, elliciting stares and comments from strangers and friends, we pushed ahead.

Still, knowing that people are talking about your family and actually hearing about it, from trusted people, is quite different. I have heard of people openly discussing the statuses of our babies, their "situations" and how/when/where/what we should be doing is hurtful. To make matters even more disheartening, I found that people are not afraid to discuss them, or their lack of them being really "ours" in front of them.

Really ours? Are you serious?

To have your very motive as a mother questioned is hurtful. To have people question the authenticity of a child to be "really yours" because there is not a specific genetic connection is maddening. It makes me angry, and quite frankly, it's stupid.

However, I will give these people the benefit of the doubt. I will assume that they do not see that speaking about my children in this manner, in front of them (nevermind that they are not even a year old yet) is rude, and cruel and just simply uncalled for.

I will assume that they do not truly understand the love of a mother for children who are not biologically related to her. I will assume that they will understand the power of their words once these things are brought into the light. I will assume such because I must.

Afterall, if I posted about such hearsay on my blog that would be gossip. And I don't like gossip.

Friday Night (Hi)Lights

If you follow me on Twitter, you will already know that Friday night we camped out in our basement with the "Big Kids" (that's Elizabeth, Lucas and Ashlee if you're wondering). We had a fabulous time.

Elizabeth came up with the idea on Wednesday afternoon when she asked,

"Mom, can we go camping tonight?"

I thought about it, and said,

"I don't see why not, but it will have to be inside. Maybe in the basement? How about Friday night?"

A huge grin spread across her precious face. The rest of the week she played "camper" with Lucas and Ashlee. That night we confirmed it with Luke. Then, she threw in a curveball...

"Can we sleep in a tent?"

So, we did. We set up a tent in the basement and had our own little camp out. And the best part? Running water, no bugs, power...this is my kind of camping.

The excitement built as Paw Paw (my Dad) came over Friday afternoon and set up the tent in our basement.

Please pardon the hodgepodge attire and clearly self-dressed children you see pictured. We have come to the age where "me do it!" has superseded my desire to battle them to wear appropriate clothing while at home. Hey, at least they are clothed, which is a major accomplishment for us...as you will see soon with a post I have in the works. And when we go into public I at least make sure that each child matches, sort of. Now, that does not mean that we all wear the same season of clothing. For example, this morning Elizabeth clearly wore a springy sun-dress to church, while Ashlee adorned more of a fall/winter dress. But hey, everyone was clothed and no one had a melt down.

Anyway, back to the campout. The kids "helped" Paw Paw set up the tent.

Then, it was time to test it out.

Earlier in the day, while helping Ashlee go to the potty (which she is doing by herself now, only requiring diapers at nap and bedtime...YIPEE!), my nose reminded me that bath night could not be pushed off one more day.

In an effort to distract them from the tent, we went back upstairs and took baths. Luke gets off work late on Friday nights. I wanted him to experience some of the excitement and so I banished the kids from the basement until Daddy was home and could escort them downstairs. I should have known that this would only INCREASE the excitement, and by 7:30 when Luke got home, they were about to bust.

We made hot dogs, the camp out food of choice, and ate downstairs. We played for a bit in the tent, and then it was MOVIE time. The kids snuggled up into their sleeping bags and we all settled down (onto a very hard basement floor) and enjoyed the show.

Once the movie went off, it was game time. We made silly faces, wrestled, went on "Bear Hunts" and played made up games, all within the confines of the tent. Then it was time for outside the tent fun. We played floor puzzels and attempted a very bad game of Chutes and Ladders. (Note to self: Do not play counting games when 2/3 of your gamers cannot count in sequential order.

"two...five....eleventeen...three!" was Ashlee's favorite move.)

Anyway, we decided it was time to begin to settle down and have a snack, so we tuned into our second movie of the night and enjoyed some popcorn.

By the time our second movie went off, Ashlee was long asleep and Lucas and Elizabeth were desperate for some Z's themselves. Luke and Lucas retired to the tent, while Elizabeth and I slept on the pullout sleeper sofa. Ashlee didn't move a muscle and snored the night away in her sleeping bag on the floor. We ushered in Valentine's Day (yes at midnight) as we tucked ourselves in and slept under the glow of the stars hallway light.

It was, without a doubt, the BEST campout I've ever been on. And although my back still hurts beyond belief (from a very uncomfortable night on a sleeper sofa) and my kids were up 4 hours past their bedtimes, it was so worth it. I know we all made memories that we will laugh about for a very, very long time.

Marshmallow-ey Delicious

About once a week, we let one of the big kids stay up a little after the others go to bed and that one gets "special time" with Mommy and Daddy. Last night, it was Ashlee's turn.

Ashlee's #1 favorite thing is anything involving a baby, but since all the babies were asleep (well, sorta...Baby Girl horned in on special time) we opted for Ashlee's #2 favorite thing, EATING.

Yes, my little 26 pound Drama Queen can pack away some food. She almost eats as much as Elizabeth and Lucas combined. It's a sight to behold.

So, last night we decided to roast marshmallows. (I just got spell checked for marshmallows...why is there an "a" in mallow? Don't we pronounce it "mellow"?)

Ashlee LOVED the 1 on 1 attention, or rather 2 on 1 attention, and even more the candle and the 'mallows.

This first one hardly made it through the roasting process. You can see full cheeks and another ready to be roasted.

We are all coming down with a cold and at one point Ashlee coughed and blew the candle out. Luke and I got a good laugh, but Ashlee didn't think it was quite as funny. She wanted us to relight the candle immediately and insisted,

"No guys! Don't waf. Dat not funny!"

Which of course, made us laugh harder.

I thoroughly enjoy our special time with each of our kids. With so much going on during the day, I often feel as though we don't get to adequately give them our undivided attention. Having "special time" helps tremendously. And before you think we stole this idea from Jon and Kate Plus 8, just know that we did this LONG before I was ever addicted to that show!

Here are some pics from our "special time" with Ashlee. Hope you have a 'mallow-ey day!

Dad showing Ash the proper roasting techniques. He was a boyscout after all, and last night I heard about a mystery "roasting badge." I'm gonna have to google that for verification.

Blowing out Daddy's 'mallow. We only did this 17,356 times. Each time she'd blow it out, she'd immediately say,
"Do dat again Dad!"

Perfecting her technique.

Colic

Dictionary.com defines colic as "A condition of unknown cause seen in infants less than three months old, marked by periods of inconsolable crying lasting for hours at a time for at least three weeks."

WebMD.com says it's "A healthy, well-fed infant who cries for more than three hours per day, for more than three days per week, for more than three weeks."

In our house, we define it as "Baby D from 6pm-12am."

A week ago, Tuesday, Baby D began his tirade of crying. It began at about 2:00pm and didn't stop until 8:30pm. Until that point, Baby D had been the easiest baby. In fact, he was so easy that it was almost like having a little babydoll. I could cuddle him when I felt like it, and if I was busy with the big kids I could put him on the floor beside me or in the swing and he'd be just as content. He only really became upset when he as hungry. Since Tuesday, July 29th our good-natured baby has been swapped for the colicky, preciousness of our new Baby D. The biggest difference?...A red face and ear piercing wails.

Seriously, Baby D has been sooooooooo fussy. During the day he usually only has 1 major spell. At night, however, it's another story. It usually begins anywhere from 6-7pm and can last up to 4 to 5 hours (he's not crying the ENTIRE time, we get 10-15 minute breaks before the next bought begins). Initially I called the doctor, worried that something was going on. They dismissed it as gas, especially since a bath almost always calms him down.

None of my other 3 were ever colicky, so this is a HUGE adjustment. It doesn't help that his "episodes" are during the most hectic part of our day: bath and bedtime. The big kids need our full attention and unfortunately one of us is almost always tied up with a screaming, trembling, red-faced baby.

We go to the doctor on Thursday and I plan on asking about a new type of formula, however, from everything I've read they'll probably just tell me to ride it out. They say it won't last longer than 3-4 months of age. What they don't realize is that this last 1 1/2 weeks has seemed like a month. It's so incredibly frustrating to watch Baby D in such pain and be unable to do ANYTHING to console him. Kisses, hugs, swaddling, gas meds, swinging, outside, walking, bouncing, singing, pacifiers, bottles...nothing helps. At some point we fall back on a nice warm bath, but at the end of it we're back to a screaming, ticked off baby.

As I bounce, rock, walk and snuggle Baby D during the most frustrating of times, God continues to bring James 1:2 to my mind:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,

The part that frustrates me the most is that I don't think the birth parents have the slightest clue about his colic. After each visit, I ask the social worker "So, how was it?" Each time they respond, "Great!" I keep waiting for one of them to say, "Oh he cried the entire visit. It's so unlike him."

Part of me wants him to cry the entire visit, just so they have a taste. Part of me wants him to cry so much that they hurry up and decide that they can't manage it and relinquish. Part of me wants him to be so horrible, that 20 minutes into the visit they ask the social worker to take him and leave. God has not answered that prayer yet. I guess He thinks He knows better than me...humf! In the meantime, I'll consider it pure joy...consider it joy.

Faith and Choices

Last night, some of our friends came over. Matt and Britt are the kind of friends that can handle the raw us. They have pretty much seen the range of emotions we've had since getting sweet Baby D (except cry, because I don't do that...right?). I treasure their friendship more than they'll ever know. With them, we have a closeness that seems as thought it's been there for ages, even though when I stop and think we've really only been friends with them for less than 2 years (which just completely blows my mind).

Basically Britt is just like Luke (which is why I love her so much I think) and Matt and I are quite similar as well. He and I love to debate and usually Britt and Luke can't get a word in edgewise. So last night, they came over and we were debriefing them about our time in court. I say debrief because that's exactly what it feels like with them. We strip everything down and get to the bare bones, then they continue to help us pick it apart. I love that we can do that with them and that we don't have to hold back. We can rant and say things that are purely selfish and they allow it, knowing it's not really our true heart but rather something we just needed to say. If you have friends like this, you understand what I'm talking about. If you don't, find some.

Last night, Luke and I were really getting worked up. Luke was ranting about how obvious it is that we would be the best place for Baby D. We were going on and on about how sorry we thought it was that the birth parents didn't even ask about him yesterday. We were venting about how ridiculous it was that the attorney made it abundantly clear to the court that the birth parents paid for Baby D's circumcision, even thought it was "elective." While Luke and I understand where the attorney is coming from, he was pitching their actions to the court as if they should win a Parent of the Year award or something. Disgusting. After Luke finished his rant, this is basically how mine went:

Absolutely! I mean, let's make sure everyone knows that they paid for the circumcision. I mean, after all it is expensive to parent a child. I mean, we've hardly done anything for Baby D. We've just paid the power bill so that he could have heat, lights and warm water. We've only paid the water bill so he could have water in his bottle to mix his formula. We've only provided every diaper he's ever used. We've only paid for the gas in our car to take him to the doctor. We've done those things because THAT'S WHAT PARENTS DO!

Then Matt said something that really made me stop and think. It wasn't his intention to convict me, but I know God placed that thought in his head because it was exactly what I needed to hear. He said, Yeah, if this was a custody battle it would be over.

That's it. In my mind, this entire thing has been a custody battle of sorts. It has been about what seems to be Baby D's obvious best interest, in my opinion. I don't know if I've been looking for validation, or if God just chose to make it obvious. I can see clearly that we are doing what is in the best interest of this Baby. I need no further reason other than being a mother. Mothers love their babies. Mothers care for them, despite impending heartache. Mothers choose to love above all else. Mothers do what it takes to care for their kids. Mothers make sacrifices. I'm a mother to Baby D, not someone on one side of a courtroom, fighting for custody. I love how God completely places situations, friends and comments in my path to redirect my heart just when it begins to slip.

This week I read Hebrews 11. I realized that my God is faithful. I realized that I am not. I need to place all of my faith in Him. If He chooses to bless me with the desires of my heart, then I am unworthy. If He chooses to increase my faith through a challenging outcome, then I am unworthy. Either way, God stays the same and I remain in a place of choice. For me, the choice is simple, I choose to have faith. I choose to trust. I choose His way, because really, what other choice do I have? One day, He will show me the promised land. The journey to get there will be nothing like I expected. I have faith that He loves me and desires the best for me. The joy is in the journey and my faith lies in Him. I love Hebrews 11:40

God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.

He has something better for us. Together, with great friends, He is making me perfect.

Because I'm a Mother

10 Random things I know, only because I'm a mother:

1. A newborn can shoot poop almost 5 feet.
2. Missing afternoon naps means bedtime will be a NIGHTMARE.
3. Hot dog and milk vomit is, by far, the smelliest of all the vomits.
4. Love can be unconditional.
5. Not dish soap or bath soap or even Equate brand shower gel can kill the smell of poop that has been smeared in a 2 yr olds hair, on her face, or all over her hands. Vinegar works nicely.
6. Slobbery kisses are the best kisses.
7. Toddlers rationalize things way differently than adults do. For example, it is completely logical to play in your own poop two times in the same day.
8. A 4 year old can understand faith and the power of prayer. This week, we prayed for the children of Africa, our Bubbie and Sissy, our Baby D and Frogs (all in the same night).
9. There is nothing in the world like skinny little arms wrapped around your neck.
10. The sitting area at the mall will suffice when a playground cannot be found. It's amazing how much fun you can have on sofas and chairs that are not in our house and have no rules.

My Comfort, My Refuge, My Strength

Yesterday's doctor visit went well. The birth parents showed up (even though I selfishly prayed they would bail out). Luke and I sat, in a small waiting room in the back with his birth parents for almost an hour. During that time I felt such peace. I must thank each of you for praying for us, because I know it was those prayers that kept my heart from racing the entire hour (though it probably would have been good cardio, and I need to burn all of the calories I can). I know it was prayer that led me through the day yesterday. For that, I thank you.

I must say though, that quite a few of my friends have said that I am "special." Or that our family is "amazing." Please, please, please do not give us the credit. It is not on our own accord that we are being strong. It is not through our own initiative that we are finding peace. We are not anything special. Trust me on this one, it's ALL God.

If you look at us and see peace, turn your eyes to heaven and give God praise. If you listen to us with our kids and hear selflessness, turn your ears to God and give Him glory. If you think, for one second, that Luke and I have exponential love, turn your heart to Christ and feel His goodness. This is SO not a Luke & Jessica thing, but a God thing.

I am so weak, so anxious and so incredibly dependent. I have "nubbin" fingernails because I chew them on the regular. I take acid-reducer medicine on a consistent basis as to subside my ever churning stomach. However, since this entire foster parent process started I have felt peace. Sure I've had moments of anxiety, frustration and questions. But, for the most part, (and I would say that's about 98% of the time) I've felt PEACE. Unsurpassed peace. Peace that I cannot explain. I can only look to Christ as the source of my strength.

The song "Shout To the Lord" plays through my mind so much. So, I decided to search my favorite line of that song on BibleGateway.com (my absolute favorite Bible site). The part of the song that sticks out is "My Comfort, My Shelter, Tower of refuge and strength."

When I searched "tower of refuge," it came back with Psalm 61:2-3:

From the ends of the earth I call to you,

I call as my heart grows faint;

lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against the foe.

Sheer perfection. Precisely how I see myself. Letting go and trusting God with all of my questions has been quite a struggle. Each time I want to pick up the phone and call someone to get their opinion, God whispers once more, I'm enough, remember? He is my refuge, He is my strong tower when my heart grows faint.

So please, if you pass us in the store, see us in the halls at church or if we even come to mind, please give God all the glory. Although it's humbling and flattering to hear of others praising you, we truly can't take any credit. God has totally taken over this situation and brought us more peace than we could ever imagine. It is not our own, it is purely Him.

Shout To the Lord
(click the title listen, I like the Skillet version best)

My Jesus, My Savior,
Lord there is none like You.
All of my days,
I want to praise,
The wonders of Your mighty love.
My Comfort, my Shelter
Tower of refuge and strength.
Let every breath, all that I am,
Never cease to worship You.

Shout to the Lord,
All the Earth let us sing.
Power and majesty
Praise to the King.
Mountains bow down
And the seas will roar
At the sound of Your name.
I sing for joy at the work of Your hands.
Forever I'll love You, forever I'll stand
Nothing compares
To the promise I have in You.

Mommy Wow! I'm A Big Kid Now...

Last night, Luke finally got the twins to sleep in their big kid beds for the 1st time. The toddler beds have been in their room for over a week now, but we never could get them to stay in them long enough to fall asleep. So, they've been sleeping in their cribs and just playing in the toddler beds.

Technically, Ashlee's bed is the white one and Lucas' is the brown, but apparently after the door was shut they quickly traded beds and then fell asleep.

*sigh*

Makes me so sad that my babies are so big. I snuck into their room and took these last night, after they'd fallen asleep.

It's funny that Lucas is sleeping in this bed. He really
prefers the white one over his brown one. Too funny!

This picture of Ashlee is just more confirmation
that she and Luke are just alike. I knew they looked alike,
walked alike and acted the same, but now I have proof that
the SLEEP just alike too. It just cracks me up!

Kids Say The Darndest Things

Just thought you all (*ahem*...Amanda) would enjoy this story, courtesy of my 3.5 yr old, Elizabeth. It's pretty good.

This past week, our lovely friend Paige came over to hang out with us. As Elizabeth and I are driving her home, we pass McDonald's. Elizabeth is in the backseat and Paige and I are in the front, trying to carry on some sort of conversation. Here's how it went:

Elizabeth: "Mommy, look! McDonald's!"

Me: "Yes, honey, I see."

Elizabeth: "I love McDonald's, Mom."

Me: "You do?" (I'm curious, b/c we rarely eat McDonald's.)

Elizabeth: "Yep, it's good. You don't like McDonald's do you Momma?"

Me: "Nope."

Elizabeth: "It makes you go poo-poo a lot, huh Momma?"

Me/Paige: Hysterical laughter and the inability to breathe

Kids say the darndest things...

Fun With Hats

Some of you may already know, but I plan on Homeschooling our kids. Elizabeth and I have started some pre-school already, but Lucas and Ashlee just aren't ready to sit still and do anything for longer than 2.5 seconds. However, this past week I checked out a story bag from the library. We read several books about Hats and I think even the twins enjoyed it. Here are some photos from our story time:

Ashlee Crocket

Lucas as Gilligan


Elizabeth the Clown