April 30, 2012

He Slept With What?


I decided to fill my son's "love tank" this morning by crawling into bed with him, but found I couldn't fit because of all the stuff he slept with.  Here's a list of what was in his bed: five blankets and a comforter; two pillows, 20+ stuffed animals (I lost count) of varying size, some as small as softballs, and at least one as large as a microwave oven, a football tee, a remote control black widow spider, an inflated beach ball, a pointy tie-dye party hat, an inflated balloon (from the same party as the party hat...from March), a glider airplane, a rubber snake, sound proof ear muffs, a two-foot long plastic shark, pajamas (he slept in his underwear), a hockey stick, and an American flag.


He sleeps in a twin-size bed.  Could I get in trouble with children's services for this?


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April 28, 2012

I'm Going to Write a Book


Two people said I should write a book, after reading my blog, so in my head, that translates into Pulitzer Prize.  Never mind that those two people included my mom and Christy, who got back from China with her son the day we left for China and was, at the time, delusional with jet lag.

I basically want to print out my blog and mail it to a publisher and they make a book out of it and it becomes an instant New York Times best seller.   Is it considered vain when you fantasize about back-to-back interviews with Letterman and Leno?

My blog stats skyrocketed while we were in China, but then I found out when I got back that my sister was checking our blog like four times a day to see if we had updated.  So, basically the same 10 relatives, who always look at my blog, were just really anxious.

My pursuit of writing a book will probably amount to nothing.  Probably because I'm pretty lazy and wouldn't even want to have to print the blog out. Isn't that what the publisher is for anyway?  And even if I did shun my laziness, and self-published, at say, Kinko's (are they even still around?), and sold a million copies (I mean 10 million) it would probably just amount to me having a big head.  I would tell everyone I met that I wrote a book, and that just sounds really cool and impressive and they would all say, "Really?  Oh my gosh!  That's so cool.  I've never known anyone whose written a book...except my Aunt Hilda, who published our family tree.  But she just wrote about our family and printed it at Kinko's, so that doesn't really count."

I guess to even have your writing looked at by a publisher, you have to have a literary agent.  That sounds really Hollywood snobbish, so I totally want one.  Typically you send a query letter to an agent with part of your work, begging them to represent you (I just learned all this on Wikipedia).  It's considered a good sign if you get a rejection letter with a hand-written note saying, "try again".

Ok, let's be honest here.  If I got a rejection letter, with a hand-written note, or not, I'd be wallowing in a vat of self-pity for a week or 10 years, and I'd believe I was such a stinky writer, that I wouldn't write again, except in my private journal, where only God could read, and probably my kids when they become teenagers and finally learn to read, and sneak peeks at my writing, and are scarred and horrified for life, by the secret thoughts of their mother. So, I'll just have to wait until someone discovers me. Anyway, I just read (on Wikipedia) that Jim Nabors was discovered by Andy Griffith, while he was working at a nightclub in L.A.  So, that gives me hope.


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April 24, 2012

Family Update - Home One Month


Autumn's transition has been a breeze so far.  She's beautiful and happy, eats almost everything we put in front of her (or sees in the garden, particularly chives – major onion breath), sleeps well (once asleep), is helpful (she screams, "Mamaaaaaaa!!!" like a bomb is detonating, every time the microwave beeps and food is ready), is learning a little English (could be more except Mama is practicing too much Chinese on her daughter), has a shorter than we're used to attention span (4 minutes for a new toy, 30 seconds for an old one, and 10 minutes for a video), loves going to Sunday school, is incredibly active (as noted in previous blog entries), loves to be outside/go places in the mini-van (if someone is leaving and she can't go, she cries and hurriedly puts her shoes and coat on - sometimes she'll be standing by the door crying in her shoes, coat, and only a diaper underneath), she's smart and is working on how to unlock the doors in our house (we've had to lock them all from the inside because she gets into so much, but lately she's been carrying around an army guy like it's a key, sticking it in the locks), and she jokes around a lot and laughs at her own attempts at wittiness (just like Mama).

The rest of the family?  A little more challenging.

The Boys - Everyday gets a little better for them.  They did quite well in China, considering the circumstances, but when they got home to their own turf and realized it was being invaded by a non-English speaking/understanding half-pint, things changed.  She was touching their toys, breaking the house rules, and seemingly, getting away with them, as she received drastically large amounts of attention that they had been receiving prior to China.  There have been days when I wondered if they would ever love her and there have been days where I have seen a gentle and kind side from the boys, I have not seen before.  Their adjustment is our greatest area of prayer right now. We're focusing on getting them the attention they need, by taking 30 minutes of one parent-to-one boy time each night to do whatever they want.

Steve - He's struggling with balancing attention among the three kids.  After working all day, and then trying to find time to cram in enough attention for each kid, he's left doing the Nestea Plunge into bed at night.  

Fuzzy-Kitty - Oh, wait, she's been gone since last August.

Kate - I'm struggling to get used to having a three-year old back in the house who, appropriately, loves to get into everything, dump it out, and leave it for someone else to clean up.  The energy it takes to keep up with her and at the same time, teach the boys how to be gentle and kind with her is overwhelming.  I'm hoping that as she learns more English and the way things work in a family, that things will be easier.  

My new motto is "just let it go, and love".  

She climbs a chair and pulls down an entire box of hair accoutrements and leaves them all over the floor? Just let it go!  Put on a smile and sing the Barney clean-up song as you demonstrate picking them up, as she's walking away looking for her next target.  

She throws a tantrum because she wants her dinner in a bowl, not on a plate?  Just let it go!  Smile a sympathetic smile and pull her meal away until she cries it out and settles for the plate (this never would have worked for Sheehan - he would have starved for two days before eating off that stinking plate).  

She sets off the elevator alarm at the boy's school where they take speech, then runs down the hall, yelling in delight that mom is chasing her (or screaming in despair because she is strapped down in her stroller) and disrupts the entire building?  Just let it go!  Smile and laugh, then blog about it later.

She closes every door in the house that you want open?  Just let it go!  Smile and say, "open," and then when you come back later and see they're all closed, just let it go again!  With gritted teeth, force a smile, that you hope miraculously connects to your heart, remind her "open" and remember that she still doesn't know English.  

She opens all the doors you want closed, loses all the remotes for the 12th time, and inadvertently reconfigures your computer to do things you've never been able to do?  Just let it go!  Go to your room.  Cry your eyes out.  Beg God for mercy on your soul.  Somehow, pick yourself up off the floor as she wails outside your closed door.  With renewed empathy, give her a hug and a kiss and tell her wo ai ni (I love you). 


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April 19, 2012

How far would you go?

We went to Toys R Us yesterday, after a play date, McDonald's, and the mall.  I had a pretty bad cold (still do) and was trying to find things to do where I could comfortably strap Autumn down without it being illegal.  I knew Steve had to work into the night and I didn't know how long my energy would last chasing her all over the house, preventing her from tearing it apart, and breaking up fight after fight among the kids.

The boys main focus at the toy store was to purchase a plush Angry Bird with their "hard-earned" money.  Sheehan quickly found his bird in a special display at the front of the store, but they still wanted to look at the regular display in case they found something better.  Autumn was in need of a nap.  She was tied down...uh, securely fastened, but was swinging her arms around and whining a lot.  When we got to the second Angry display, I told the boys we needed to get moving after that because their sister was losing control, I was starting to feel a lot worse, and I had forgotten my tissues in the car and was resorting to my sleeve.

Josiah kept bringing item after item to me of Angry Birds paraphernalia to see if he had enough money for it.  He is one of those kids that often gets upset because he never has enough money for something he really wants because he buys something - any little thing - whenever we visit a store.  He ended up having enough for three Angry Bird erasers.  

The boys each paid for their items and we exited the store.  We have a rule that the boys aren't allowed to open their toys until we get in the car.  Josiah forgot this rule yesterday.  He ripped the packaging apart, and tried to balance all the trash in his hands, along with his three prized red eraser head Angry Birds, as the little rubber tufts of feathers fell out of the tops of their heads and bounced across the tiled floor.  I (naggingly) reminded him of our rule, then told him to put the trash in the trash can.  When he threw the trash out, one of the Angry Birds went with it.  Panic immediately swam across his face.  Three options went through my mind:

1.  Say good-bye to the little red ball (you still have two!) and be on our way.  But that would involve at least an hour of crying and two days (maybe years) of mourning and with my cold and fatigue, I wasn't ready to commit to that kind of long-term impact.

2.  I go in after Angry and win the Sacrificial Mother of the Year Award.  But that would involve something disgusting, and at that point, Autumn was no longer in the cart, but standing, me holding her hand, ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

3.  Josiah goes in after the stinking bird.  He's a good climber.  He doesn't mind getting dirty.  We have wet wipes in the diaper bag.  He looks ready and willing.

Number 3 was obviously the best option.  We lifted the lid off the can and found that it was only about a quarter full.  I spotted the bird, but it was too far down for anyone to reach.  It was wedged neatly between a smashed McDonald's cup and the gooey, sludgy side of the trash can.  I considered throwing up, but that would have hurt my already aching throat.  So I did what any sensible parent would do.  I asked Sheehan to hold Autumn, as I mustered all my energy to pick Josiah up, then lowered him,  head first, into the trash can.  He yelled out, "I see it!" then started some kind of frog-kick with his legs to get deeper.  I started laughing and my nose started running down my face.  Autumn was screaming, while Sheehan held on to her, and screamed even louder for her to stop screaming.  I laughed harder, which made me cry and made my nose run more.  Finally, Josiah yelled, "I got it!" and I pulled him out.  

At that point I was covered in tears and snot and still laughing.  I grasped Autumn's hand, as I tried not to pee my pants, and returned the trash lid to its proper place.  Josiah had the biggest smile on his face.  Then, I knew I had made the right decision.  

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April 18, 2012

Toddler Fashion Show


The other day we were getting ready for church and I found myself fretting over what outfit to put on Autumn. I slowly realized that I had fallen prey to the unwritten rule that your daughter should dress like a child model from a weekend Kohl's ad.  Am I the only one who knows about this rule?  Before I had a daughter I let my sons go out in practically anything, and I was proud of that. They dressed themselves and that was one less thing I had to worry about.

Green camouflaged pants with brown and yellow horizontal striped shirt? Little Stud Muffin.

Red Lightning McQueen Shirt with yellow and green Packers pants? GQ.

Bright orange Chinese New Year t-shirt, brown sweat pants with "holy" knees, mismatched socks, and blue crocs? Church Outfit.

I remember before we adopted Sheehan, when we thought we were going to adopt a girl, a woman said to me, “oh, you'll be at Hannah Andersson all the time.” I smiled and nodded, having no idea what she was talking about, but thinking that it must be some high-priced girl's clothing store. Inside, I thought, “Whatever! You don't even know me. All my clothes come from Goodwill. I will NOT be at Hannah Whatever all the time.”

Another time, I heard a mom lamenting over the pressures to buy her six-year old expensive brand-name boots. I gave her a sympathetic tongue-click, followed by a compassionate, "thats just awful," but inside I screamed at her, “Are you kidding me?!  She's six!  Go to Payless!”

Fast forward six years to me having a new three year old daughter. I stood in front of Autumn's dresser on Sunday with all the drawers pulled out, whining, “I can't find anything that matches," and thought, "I can't take her out of the house in clothes that don't match."  Then I was distracted by a pair of pink and brown polka-dotted socks and thought, "Oooh, we're going to have to buy an outfit to match these, because these are just too cute."

So, why is it so different between boys and girls, and why doesn't how I dress the boys (or how they dress themselves) matter to me?  Is it because girls are supposed to be sugar and spice and everything nice, while boys are puppy dog tails...or snails or whatever?  Oh my gosh, I'm trying to live up to a nursery rhyme!

I've seen moms make their daughters Mini-me's by dressing them in identical outfits to their own.  I've always thought that was just a little strange - just a little.  I've also seen grown women dressed identically to their moms.  Now thats pretty cool.  Because nobody does that, and it takes a certain amount of boldness to not care that people think you're a complete weirdo.  Not to mention, it's the perfect opportunity to get your picture on awkward family photos, especially if you have big matching hairdos (omg, check out today's post!).

I realize that part of my desire to dress my daughter up stems from years of dressing Barbie in all the latest fashions of the 70s and 80s, as well as my dream (come true) of having my very own moving, talking, eating, drinking, peeing, pooping Baby Alive.

The other part of my desire to dress her up comes from the Kohl's rule, of course.  The mom-pressured, make your daughter look good, so you'll look good rule.  (Which is ironic that I would succumb to such a thing considering I rarely leave my house without donning my Momiform, the mom uniform: t-shirt, sweatshirt, and sweatpants - or jeans if I feel like dressing up a little.  And if I don't leave the house?  PJ's.  All.  Day.  Only changing at around 3 pm, so Steve won't think I spent the whole day like that).  It's like I make it my daughter's job to represent my ego.  Let me dress up my little ego in all her cute little clothes.  And it's not like my little ego lasts more than 10 minutes before it spills food all over it or trips and falls leaving holes in it or screams bloody murder because it hates the bow in its hair.  But I still set up these expectations that she'll look cute and neat, so I will, in turn, look like a good mom with a perfect child.  It's only when I focus on what really matters that this will change: not worrying what others think; letting my daughter be a child; and lowering - like really lowering my expectations - actually just throwing them all out the window.  Then maybe my ego will rest in Jesus, back where it belongs, not in my daughter's wardrobe or in the thoughts of other moms.  Besides the other moms are usually so busy worrying about their own little Mini-me's that they don't have time to think about mine.

Gotta go! Time to get Autumn dressed.
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April 10, 2012

Videos from China

Since I wasn't able to post any videos in China (had something to do with my iPad and my inability to figure it out) I'm posting some now.  Enjoy!


Three year old energy...
at the airport - see post Flying to Guangzhou
video


The cattle drive.  I mean, the physical exam.
See post Physical Exam
video


What Mornings Looked Like in China
video


Freaking Scary Lions
See post Guangzhou Zoo
video


Save the Drama for Your...wait.
video


Cinematography courtesy of Sheehan.  
I just thought Josiah flying through the room was funny.
video

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April 05, 2012

Home a Week


 A few people have emailed me over the past week asking for an update on what we've been up to since getting home. In a word: nothing. We've been up to nothing. If my identity were at all tied up in my accomplishments as a mother, which, of course, it's not (dramatic pause). My identity is tied up in Jesus (second dramatic pause). Ok, well, let's just say that, absolutely, without a doubt, hypothetically, IF some part of my identity were wrapped up in my role as a mother – which, again, we know it's not – then my title this week would be Queen Nothing.


I wish Nothing included lounging on the couch, eating dark chocolates and sipping even chocolatier mochas, while the boys played harmoniously on the floor, and Autumn and I snuggled together building attachment, by looking longingly into each other's eyes. (sigh) But our Nothing looked more like this: I picked up blocks, and watched Autumn dump them; I picked up plastic grocery items, and watched Autumn dump them; I watched Autumn dump the contents of the diaper bag as my lower lip and shoulders dragged on the ground because I was so tired of picking up dumped items; I tried to read Autumn a book and she skipped every page to the very end, then threw it on the floor; I listened to my sons talk incessantly about Angry Birds and the three foot high green pig towers they were building in their room because they weren't allowed to play on the iPad except for (in a whiny voice) one hour on the weekend; I broke up fights between Sheehan and Autumn, Sheehan and Josiah, and Josiah and Autumn; and I relearned that a quiet child is not a content child, but is a mischievous child.

But, I know deep down somewhere hidden in the crevices between my liver and my gallbladder (which we all know is a useless organ anyway...or am I confusing that with the tonsils?) that I've accomplished quite a lot this week. I've played with my children, I've loved them, I've trained them, I've comforted them, I've gotten to know them better, and I've worked on that whole bonding and attachment thing.

Other notable Nothings we did this week:
  • Watched way too much TV. In fact, I've watched so much of that Sid the Science Kid that I've developed an overwhelming distaste for every character on that show, but especially pink-headed Gerald, who I want to punch in the face because he's so annoying. Also, Elmo is Autumn's new BFF.
  • Played on the playground – discovered that Autumn likes the swings, but only so high before she goes from giddiness to sheer terror.
  • Got back to a normal sleep schedule in a record eight days (Thanks Steve!). I missed the Chinese cement mattresses so much that I found myself lured into sleeping on Autumn's bedroom floor a few nights - to simulate that not-so-soft feeling.
  • Celebrated Autumn's 3rd Birthday – I hate to say this is nothing because it's so not nothing, but when you get back from the other side of the world just five days prior and you're still jet-lagged, then birthdays take a backseat. We did manage to pick up some cupcakes at Dominick's and throw up some recycled decorations and blow up balloons. We did it while Autumn napped and when she woke up and saw it, she gasped in delight over and over again. It was very cute.

Things we've learned about Autumn this week:
Autumn goes by the philosophy of “Touchers, Keepers, Losers, Weepers. She believes that if she touches something, then it's automatically hers. She pats her chest and says, “Yu-way”, which is how she says her Chinese name. If you remind her that the item belongs to someone else, she stamps her foot and goes into tantrum mode. Items she has touched and therefore claimed, have included: most of the boy's toys, my phone, everyone else's plate of food, the iPad, Steve's shoes, and feminine hygiene products.

She has a great sense of humor and likes to give and receive jokes. She will take something that belongs to someone else and will run away and when you chase her, she thinks it's funny and she runs all the faster, laughing at you and herself.
She has the gift of encouragement. Every time I successfully use the potty, she shouts, “hao jie la” which means something like, “great job!”

She likes to run around naked. But, who doesn't?

Her two most favorite things in the world are taking a bath and going outside. Taking a bath is liquid heaven to her. She'd do it twice a day if I'd let her. I have to be very careful about putting on shoes or a sweater near the front door because when she sees that, she thinks it's time to go (anywhere, but inside) and will start bringing me everything else that I might need to go outside (sunglasses, gloves, purse, coat). If we don't go outside, then she throws a tantrum. If she puts her coat on in the morning (because she mistakenly thinks she's going outside), she spends most of the day wearing it and refuses to take it off...unless she's getting a bath.

Our biggest challenge since we got home has been the adjustment between Sheehan and Autumn. They both want to be #1 and are both stubborn. I made the mistake of leaving the bathroom door open the other day while taking care of business. Autumn ran in and tried to shut the door behind her. Sheehan ran in and put his foot in front of the door to block her from closing it. She started jumping up and down, crying and then screamed at Sheehan. He was determined to not let her close the door. I sat, limp and dumbfounded, at what was unfolding in front of me just out of arm's reach. She started hitting him and kicking him. He tried hitting her back. I leaned forward swiping at anything, and missing. I yelled at Sheehan to leave the room and then got up and picked up Autumn and placed her outside the bathroom with the door closed, so I could finish. She cried and screamed even louder. I spoke soothingly to her through the door. That didn't help. Then Sheehan came back and tried to pull her off the door. Josiah was somewhere in the background, singing his made up song, “bu yao (which means “no”), bu-bu yao. Bu yao, bu-bu yoa.” Where was that stinking box of Calgon?! When I opened the door, Autumn stopped crying and shouted, “hao jie la!”


video
Video from China

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