7 Quick Takes - Groundhog Fail, Birthdays, Birds, Woe & Snow

Linking up again with Kelly at her blog for another Quick Takes. Thanks, Kelly!

--1--

So, let's just start with the obvious:

Somewhere under this is our driveway.

Groundhog, you let me down.

We've been hunkered down all week, venturing no further than the end of our driveway for the past five days. I've pretty much given up on my boys seeing preschool again until somewhere around mid-April, which isn't all bad considering we've hit a pretty nice groove at home.  This meme that I saw on FB pretty much sums up how well we handle a lot of snow in Kentucky.

A lot of records were broken here this week, and I'm not talkin' about basketball (but how 'bout them Wildcats!).  Some places got over a foot of snow, and we had about eight inches on the back porch. Then, the bottom fell out of the thermometer last night, and I had the sad misfortune of getting to experience ten-below for the second winter in a row. Only last year, I did not live in the supposed South! Why is this weather following me??? Because ya know, it's all personal, right? Nothing scientific about it.

--2--

But let's not talk about the weather.  Let's talk about this little guy who turned four this past Sunday.  If you read the conclusion of his birth story this past week, you know that as soon as I laid eyes on him, I thought he'd have a beautiful smile someday.  Am I wrong?

He had a wonderful birthday and was so happy.  He was just beaming the whole weekend.  He was so excited to have his grandma and grandpa from Kansas City visiting for his special day, and he received not one but two toy trains as gifts. He adores trains and fell asleep that night clutching his new black locomotive. He requested a "red cake" for his birthday, so I made one using pureed raspberries for the red coloring (I try to avoid the artificial food colorings as much as possible). It was yummy even though he refused to eat it.  Unlike his big brother, Joah doesn't have much of a sweet tooth and seldom eats dessert.  Before the cake, everyone feasted on pork and pancakes because pancakes are Joah's favorite meal at the moment, and Tom's smoked ribs and sausage are everyone else's favorite meal!  We also invited a couple of friends over, and they brought two five-year old girls.  Joah and John loved playing with them.  Joah kept telling the girls knock-knock jokes, and they'd just smile but not respond. When that didn't work, he decided to start chasing them up and down the staircase but they'd keep running away.   After a bit of that, the poor guy came down the stairs looking all defeated and exclaimed, "Mom, those girls just won't stop running.  We need to build a fence!"  Get used to it, Joah.

--3--

Two days after Joah's birthday, we celebrated the birthday of our fourth baby, Karol Elizabeth.  I really wish I had that little two-and-a-half year old running around here but I know she is working hard for us in heaven.  Normally, I make a cake for our babies' birthdays, but since the day after was Ash Wednesday and we already had leftover "red cake" in the frig, I opted to go with something different. So instead, the boys and I made snow cream, put some sprinkles on it, and we each got a bowl full with a candle on top.  Then we all sang happy birthday to Karol and slurped it down.

--4--

So, did anyone else out there participate in the Great Backyard Bird Count this past weekend?  If you missed it, there's always next year. It's a great way to introduce kids to birding and you can even do it without leaving your house. Just fill up a feeder (black oil sunflower seed is best) and wait a few days.  The birds will find it and then they'll be eating you out of house and home!  With the big snow we've had, our feeder has become grand central station and the boys really enjoy watching all the activity.   They know several of the more common feeder species, and yesterday, we even had a visit from a hermit thrush. If a hermit thrush visits a feeder, you know things must be getting rough (bird-wise).  Birding is a hobby that will last a lifetime, and as a matter of fact, it was our mutual love of birds that first brought Tom and me together. But that is a story for another day.

--5--

Once the birthdays were celebrated, we started trying to getting ready for Lent. Our Ash Wednesday services were canceled due to the snowstorm so we just stayed home.  I took down the string of lights that I'd put up on the feast of St. Lucy back in December and the boys and I hung our Lenten calendar. On Fat Tuesday, I kept reminding John that there would be no more candy after that day, and the kid did his best to scarf down every piece of chocolate he'd received for St. Valentine's Day. He started to founder after his fourth piece and then declared that he was saving the rest for Easter. So far, he's doing pretty good, although he has had a couple of weak moments, but I think we might be through the worst of it.

Fat Tuesday, John style.

--6--

On the adoption front, there isn't much to report.  Our agency has shown our profile a couple of times since December, and one birthmother chose another family and the other decided to parent.  Still, I am encouraged that our profile is at least being shown. It was after we lost Karol that we really felt the pull to adopt again and that has now been three years ago.  This past week, we actually had a very discouraging moment when one of the *Christian* agencies we were applying with asked us to sign a Statement of Faith that was contrary to Catholic teaching.  We could not in good faith do that, so we had to scratch another agency off the list, and it felt like our odds just got a little longer.  Trying to adopt is certainly not for the faint-hearted in these days and times, and I'm trying very hard not to get too jaded.

--7--

That's mostly the week that was.  I will end with an epic picture that I took this past week of Joah on his very first sled ride. I think the look on his face says it all. Maybe this is why God sent us snow. Love that smile!

Have a great weekend!

Flowers In The Snow (An Adoption Birth Story) - Conclusion

To read the first two parts of this story, please go here (Part 1) and here (Part 2).

For Joah.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, it was early afternoon, and what had begun as a promising morning had turned into a glorious afternoon.  Even in the city, it was hard not to notice the singing of the house sparrows and the warm breeze as we walked through the hospital's concrete parking garage.  What a wonderful day to be born on, I thought.

Our social worker, Mary, met us at the hospital and was a bundle of nerves. Your unexpected arrival had created a bit of a stir in her day, too!  We all hugged and gathered our thoughts, and the peace that had been with me through the day seemed to descend upon us.  Pushing your brother in his stroller, we made our way through the corridors and anxiously searched for the nursery.

I will never forget the first moment that I saw you. You were swaddled and sleeping, and I pushed my face against the glass window that felt like one final hurdle yet to be crossed.   "May I hold him?" I asked.  Not yet, I was told. We still needed her consent. So all I could do was watch you from a distance and offer a prayer and a promise to be back soon.  

"Can we see her?" we asked.   "Yes" Mary said, "but you will not find her in Labor and Delivery." She had requested to be moved to another floor in the hospital, one far from the sound of newborns and rejoicing families.   "Was she doing okay?" I asked.   The birth was hard, we were told, and I did not ask any more questions.  

We left your brother with Mary for the moment and walked to her room. The lights were dim inside, and we tapped on the doorway.  She was awake, resting, with her mother by her side.  We walked in and, with very few words, hugged her mother and then her.   "He's so beautiful," was all I could say, and she nodded. Her mother talked of how proud she was of her daughter, how strong her daughter had been, how happy they were that we had come so quickly and that we were going to be his parents.  I struggled for words but could do little more than say thank you.  

She gave her permission for me to hold you and to do whatever I felt best as your mother.  I returned to the nursery and Mary explained the situation to the nurses, who then looked at me with a smile and ushered me through the door and around the glass window that had been the final barrier between you and me. "Wait here," they said, and your father and I sat down in the two plastic chairs provided to us. Seconds later, I was holding you for the first time.  You were four hours old, and I have been with you ever since.

I asked if I could nurse you, but I was told it was against hospital policies considering we still had not completed the paperwork that gave us custody.  So, instead, I pulled back your swaddle and placed your body against mine.  Your father and I studied your face, and we agreed that you looked like her.  "He's going to have a great smile," I said, as I studied the proportions of your mouth, nose, and eyes. "He looks a little like a bug," said your father lightheartedly, and we both laughed.

A few hours later, it was time to leave and tend to finding our lodging and getting settled for the night. We found our way to the hotel where I fed your brother and put him to bed. Then I kissed your father goodnight and returned to the hospital and that plastic chair, and you and I snuggled skin-to-skin until late into the night.

The next morning, your grandmother arrived, followed soon after by the arrival of your grandfather. They watched eagerly through the glass as your father and I held you up to the nursery window and shared with them the name we had chosen.  They beamed with pride.

Throughout the day, your father and I would visit her.  Gradually, the conversation became easier, and we talked about her return to school and swapped stories about the trials and tribulations that come from having college roommates.  We met her father and her sister, and the more we talked, the more Tom and I began to feel attached to her and her family. They were so loving and so close, and it was obvious that they cared about her deeply.  Yet, she seemed tired and a little too quiet, and at times, it felt like the only thing I could hear was the unspoken.  Her mother, in particular, seemed to be struggling, and with each conversation, we could sense that this was not a decision that she wanted to accept.  Yet, she loved her daughter immensely, and she told us that she was determined to show that love by honoring her daughter's wishes.

A few hours before her discharge, it had been arranged for her to go to the nursery with her family to see you while your father and I were not there.  Her parents had told us earlier that they were insisting that she see you one last time before she left the hospital and she eventually had obliged.  We were told that she had looked into your face and shed a few tears but said nothing.  I truly believe that as she looked at you, she gave you her blessing.   Soon after, your father and I made our last visit to her to say goodbye.  "I promise you I will make sure he knows how much you love him," I told her as we held each other tightly and cried tears of sorrow and gratitude.

Shortly after she left the hospital, we were escorted out as well.  The nurse insisted that, according to policy, I leave in a wheelchair, holding my newborn in my lap. As I was wheeled through the hallway, all I could think of was how she must have felt being wheeled out in a similar manner...but with empty arms.   Your father and your grandparents walked beside us, and as Mary pushed your brother in his stroller behind me, she kept commenting on how, in thirty years of doing adoptions, she'd never experienced one quite as perfect as this one had been.

We walked out the hospital door and into yet another warm and lovely day, but this time, the breeze was brisk and carried the tell-tale sign that our brief winter reprieve would soon end.   A couple of hours later, we were home.  As I walked up the sidewalk to our front door, I noticed that during the two days we'd been gone, the hyacinths had made a premature appearance, and I thought about how such delicate little flowers would soon be forced to face the brunt of a winter not quite ended.

I never saw her again after that day. We sent her letters and photos, and we were told that she graciously accepted them.  The weeks turned into months and by the end of summer, you were officially ours forever.  Your father commented often that he was surprised that we never heard from her.  It all had seemed so perfect, he said.  Mary had said it as well.   And I agreed.  It had been perfect, because in my heart, I believe that she was trying to follow God's will, as were we, and by doing so, how could it have been anything less than perfect?

But sometimes, the perfect love that comes from following God's will can only be borne of pain, and too often, it is the pain that is left to linger.  Like a flower in the snow, perfect love can be fragile and fleeting and before we've even had time to fully appreciate it, it is gone. But for the moment that we are a witness to it, we know that we have seen something beautiful and that we have been blessed. We know that God has given us a glimpse of heaven in a world far from it.  

Going home.
February 17, 2011

Flowers In The Snow (An Adoption Birth Story) - Part 2

If you would like to read the first part of this story, you can find it here.

For Joah.

I looked out the bedroom window and watched as the sun rose slowly over the cedars at the edge of our backyard.  Not a cloud was in the sky and the morning held the promise of a perfect day.  The grass blushed with just a hint of green and a warm southerly breeze brought with it the promise of spring. I cracked the window just enough to let the fresh air sweep into the room, and I breathed deeply. I was holding your brother on my hip, and we watched the bluebirds as they played hopscotch along the barb wire fence.  Soon, they'll have babies to feed, I thought, but for the moment, they seemed to have no other concern beyond relishing the gift of a day that was unseasonably warm and a harbinger of things to come. 

It will be a good day to hang out diapers, I said to myself, and I stepped away from the window and my daydreams to face the business of the day.  As I sat your brother on the floor and reached for the laundry basket, the phone rang.  It was still early, not quite eight in the morning, and I guessed it was my office calling, as they had not yet become accustomed to my part-time schedule.  I answered and heard only three words:

She's in labor.

It had begun on St. Valentine's Day, in the evening hours. You were coming earlier than had been expected, and I couldn't help but wonder if your great-grandfather, who's name had been Valentine, might have had something to do with it. Now, many hours later, she knew you would be arriving at any time and she had asked the agency to call us. 

I had spent the previous week after that meeting wondering if she would change her mind. Your father and I had already experienced one failed adoption the year before, albeit under very different circumstances.  Would this one be different?   In my heart, I felt it would be, because she had been different. There was a connection with her that I could not describe, and I believed she felt it to.  It transcended all the questions, all the unknowns, all the insecurities, and the only other time I had ever experienced it was when I met your father.  Now, as the unexpected news of your pending arrival triggered a flurry of activity, I faced it with a feeling of great peace inside, somehow knowing that this two-and-a-half year journey towards you was finally about to end.

I called your father immediately; he would drive from his office and meet us near the hospital and, in the meantime, call your grandparents and make reservations for us at a nearby hotel.  Be sure to find a hotel that takes pets, I told him, for we had no time to spare to even find someone to watch our dog, Sage. And for some silly reason, I wanted Sage with us, too.  I wanted my family together for this moment and that included her.  She had been with us through it all.

I put your brother down in his crib and began to hurriedly throw things into a suitcase as my mind raced through my mental checklist...diapers, formula, breast pump, dog food, water, baby clothes, blankets, bottles, stroller, snacks...the list seemed endless.

The phone rang again.  You were here, a baby boy, 7 pounds 6 ounces and doing well.  I asked, "and how is she doing?"  They said only that she had asked that you be taken directly to the nursery where you would be waiting for us.

I had only one thought now... I must get to you...and I was focused on nothing else but that single objective.  My thoughts went into overdrive and with a sense of purpose like none I'd ever experienced before, I loaded the car, fed your brother, rounded up Sage, and headed north.

Your father met me and his face showed the same emotions that I had been feeling.  Feelings of excitement, anxiety, stress, joy, all combined to form one expression and we both knew the look all too well.   We stood in the parking lot and gave each other a long hug, then jumped back into our cars. Now together, we caravanned to the hospital and prepared our hearts to meet you.

(To be concluded tomorrow).