May 18, 2017 - Oh Happy Daze

Boy Meets World {now World, meet Boy}

Every morning Charlie asks me: “Is his name Baker yet?”
And every morning I tell her: “Not yet, they are still working on all of his important paperwork.”
But today, when she asks, we’ll get to tell her “YES. His name is Baker now!”
We’re happy to finally share his precious face with you all.
Our sweet, silly, giggly William Levi Baker.

Children are a gift from the Lord;
they are a reward from him.
Children born to a young man
are like arrows in a warrior’s hands.
How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them!

Psalm 127:3-5

Dear Will,
We give God thanks for every single day with you. You are SO loved. Not only by God and hundreds of family and friends, but TWO mommies and TWO daddies. God’s protective hand has been covering you since before you even drew your first breath. He has big plans for you, little Peep. You are an arrow, shaped and formed with a specific plan already designed for your amazing life. As much as I want to hold you tight and never let go, I know we have been given a special task. Our task, as your parents, is not for us to ‘collect you’ in our quiver, but for us to train you to travel a straight path when you are older. A path that includes wisdom, kindness, generosity, genuine love for others, and love for God.
Xoxo,
Mommy & Daddy

Awesome photo cred goes to my sweet friend Holly @ Shutterly Sweet Photography.

April 24, 2017 - Oh Happy Daze

Tidal Wave.

I want to declare this an honesty zone. A space where I can be real. Like really real. Can I do that with you? Can I share something really personal?
I’m afraid. I’m afraid because something that was ‘in the future’ is now ‘in the present’. It was a long way off and now it’s baring down on me like a tidal wave. I saw it coming from far off, but it was so small. It hadn’t reached my shores yet. And it was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. There were so many others who were battling monster tidal waves that made mine look like a little ripple in the water {and still do}. I saw the others and I saw the waves that were battering against them and I wanted to rally around them because my wave was still so far from my shores; there was nothing for me to do but wait for it to arrive. Why fret over it? And it was so small in comparison to other waves, I felt the need to pretend it didn’t really pose a threat. So I waited, and I pretended. But now suddenly my wave is upon me, closing in, and I find myself bracing for impact. I’m totally unprepared.
My kidneys are failing. We’ve known that for a few years now and the progression has been relatively slow. But now it’s not so slow. I am surprised that I am surprised by my kidney’s failing. If that makes sense. We saw this coming from a long way off, so I shouldn’t be surprised. This tidal wave that would bring sickness and huge changes to my life. I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast or to feel scared of the coming changes. This wave is faster and bigger and more powerful than I thought it would be.
And that’s what I need to share with you all. My fear. And my guilt for feeling that fear. There’s a huge battle within myself, two feelings competing for dominance.
The first is my FEAR. I’m afraid of the surgery. I’m afraid of complications and of not surviving. Of leaving my husband, and children, and family, and friends behind {though I’m not afraid of dying, which is different, and maybe I’ll be able to explain that another day}. I’m afraid of the medicine I’ll have to take for the rest of my life. Of the weakened immune system that will probably mean I’ll have to make some changes to my routine and all of the different ways I interact with kids {those germ hoarding beings}. I’m afraid of the weight I’ll gain because of the medicine, and of the comments people will make. I’m afraid of taking an organ from someone and the repercussions that may have on their life. I’m afraid of dialysis. I’m afraid of having to ask for help during my recovery time. I’m afraid of how this may affect our ability to foster children or my ability for me to care for my own children.
And then there’s the GUILT. I feel guilty for feeling every single ounce of fear I mentioned above. Guilt for being afraid of having surgery once in my life, when others have had to endure multiple surgeries or may not even have a surgery/cure available for what they are enduring. I feel guilt for fearing my body’s reaction to the medicine that will enable me to KEEP LIVING. Guilt for wanting to shout ‘you keep it’ or ‘no thanks’ to whoever may donate a kidney to me, simply because it seems impossible to receive a gift like that.
I visit my nephrologist every 6 months or so, so he can check the level of my Kidney function. We’ve known my kidneys were failing for about 4 1/2 years now, since right after Charlotte was born and I had a sudden battle with hypertension {you can read about it here}. After about a year of working to get my blood pressure under control and investigating why my kidney’s were failing I was eventually diagnosed with Medullary Cystic Kidney disease {MCKD}. It’s a genetic disease where cysts develop in the kidneys, gradually reducing their ability to function {and filter toxins from your body}.
The diagnosis was a surprise, but even then I remember thinking “No big, I’ve got this”. A few years prior I’d just watched my mom battle the same disease, endure a kidney transplant {with several complications}, and come out fighting. And she’s still fighting for her health. Even though I know how difficult it was for her, I also know how successful her transplant has been and I knew I’d have an awesome team of support in both her and my family when the time came for us to wade through those same waters. She made it look EASY folks.
Even though I have my mom to look for as a great example for a successful kidney transplant, I don’t really know when to expect things to happen, and that adds another element of fear into it for me. My timeline for transplant is unknown. For now, we just wait until my kidney function declines enough for me to be put on the transplant list {under 20%}. Until recently, things were moving slowly {and my kidney function hovered around 27%}, but currently things have begun declining quickly and I’m now at 22% GFR {the rate my kidneys are able to filter toxins}.
During my last appointment, when my nephrologist told me what my current kidney function was, I remember my mom and I looking at each other in surprise. We didn’t think we’d be hearing this news so soon; I felt fine. I even asked “Then why don’t I feel sick?”
The short answer is: my body is very healthy. Everything is working beautifully, except for my kidneys, so I wouldn’t be having many of the symptoms that typically arrive with kidney failure related to diabetes or other diseases.
The long answer is: I do feel sick. I think my current state is simply ‘my norm’ now and I don’t remember a time when I felt ‘better’. For so long I’ve been pretending this tidal wave isn’t affecting me, and the changes have been so slow in arriving, I’ve just endured and ignored. But if you don’t mind, I’ll complain for a minute…….. I’m exhausted all the time. I don’t sleep well. I have to force myself to eat and rarely have an appetite. Nausea makes random appearances. My anemia {which goes hand in hand with Kidney function} makes me cold all the time and I bruise very easily. I get winded at random times after doing very simple tasks. I just feel yucky. But the next day {or the next hour} I’ll feel wonderful and my energy is back and I can conquer any task set before me.
Alright. Glad I got that complaining off my chest. It’s hard for me to talk about this and I didn’t realize I’d been avoiding processing this recent development until I was meeting with my pastor last week and he innocently asked “How are you doing?” and I burst into tears and spilled my guts. I don’t think he was expecting it to turn into a sniffles and soul baring session, but I appreciate his ability to simply listen and then jump right in to asking God for healing over me.
That’s where we’re at now. We’re waiting. And we’re pray.
I’m praying for healing. For the longest time, though, I didn’t pray for healing for myself. I had just decided that this was what was happening to me and I should just suck it up because it could be way worse. I wouldn’t want to waste a prayer on myself or request God’s favor for myself when someone else may be suffering so much more. How could I complain when I’ve been given so much and have only had to endure one little health issue. But God reminded me that His healing is not limited. There is no limit to the amount of healing He can do. My receiving healing does not mean someone else misses out on the healing. So I’m praying for healing. All over healing. Kidney healing. Heart healing. Soul healing. I want to be strong and healthy and fearless and brave. And God can provide that for me. He’s changing my stagnant mindset to one of power, shaping my negative perspective to one of hope , molding my fears into fierceness.

I’m working on not fearing this tidal wave. I can see it coming, and that means God can too. Guess what? He also sees what will be on the other side of the wave.
I’m adopting the mindset of Moana’s grandma. I’ll dance with the water. I won’t fear it. I’ll replace each fear with hope because God sees this wave, and the next, and the next.

I like to dance with the water
The undertow and the waves
The water is mischievous (ha!)
I like how it misbehaves

The village may think I’m crazy
Or say that I drift too far
But once you know what you like, well
There you are

You’re singing this in your head now aren’t ya.

April 3, 2017 - Oh Happy Daze

(foster)Mom Fail.

Y’all, I’ve gotta tell you something. I made a big parenting error last week. If you have a child like my Charlie Grace, I want you to learn from my mistake. I’ll preface this experience with a little bit of back-story.
Our Charlie Grace is an anxious soul. Maybe she gets it from the ‘fretful’ genes she inherited from her mama. Or maybe I’ve inadvertently shaped her responses to experiences; kids are, after all, always watching and learning from us. Regardless, I’ve learned over the past few years that she is my child who needs ALL THE WORDS. We discuss what will happen before going into an experience. We discuss what will not happen. We discuss when things will happen, and how they will happen and where. You may think this is overkill, but my girl depends on this type of routine. This is how we get through doctor’s appointments, play dates with new friends, someone other than mom picking her up from school, and holidays with those relatives who are strangers but want to get into your personal space with a hug anyway. Verbal Prep and our family are best friends.
She needs the words. She needs me to describe as much as I can and answer all her questions. And I always do because that equals a successful experience for both of us. Except last week I didn’t.
Last week we had a new little placement. He arrived late at night, but our kiddos just rolled with the new addition and changes in schedule when they saw him the next morning. That’s the norm now. We’ve had several emergency placements recently {children who have to be removed from their situation as soon as possible but a long term foster placement isn’t available immediately, so they come to us because that’s what we’re best at providing right now}. A new foster home was identified for this little guy after a few days so I packed up his things {and cried} and tucked him into his carseat {and cried} and snuggled him one last time {and cried}. I am typically very diligent in ensuring my emotions stay healthy when it comes to fostering, by reminding myself daily why we do this {Love God, Love people}, and who we do this for {any that have need}. It’s not for me, though I do love a good baby fix. It’s not for us to grow our family, though we will if there is a need. It’s for the child and the birth parents and I’m typically on board with the ebbs and flows of that process. But with this little fella it was different from the first moment. I was desperate for him to stay longer; even just one more day. I really struggled with having to let him move on to another home, even though he was heading to a wonderful family who will love him to pieces until his parents are able care for him again.
I don’t think Chris knew how to handle me this week. He just laughed at my crazy. And no, we typically don’t chat about foster kiddos like they are puppies, but desperate times…

I was so wrapped up in processing my sorrow that I forgot to consider the emotional needs of my children. Our little visitor was a part of their lives too. They form a bond with each child who comes in our home and we always talk with our kiddos about what is happening as much as is reasonable for their age, while maintaining the privacy of the child who is joining us. And when a child is moving on, either to another placement or to biological family, we always talk it out.
But last week I forgot. I didn’t talk to Charlie about where our visitor was going and why. She fell asleep on the way to social services. I remember feeling relieved because I didn’t want to have to answer her ten million questions that border on ‘almost too difficult for mommy to answer’ about science and animals and life and whatever other brainy topic she’s fixated on recently. When she woke up, our visitor was gone and she was heartbroken. “Mom, he was just here in the carseat a minute ago”, she said between sobs.
GUILT. I felt it like a huge weight on my heart. I felt horrible. I’d failed to meet her emotional needs. My kiddo who needs ALL THE WORDS. I gave her NONE. I didn’t respect her need to understand what was happening, and she deserved to know, because fostering affects her every. single. day.

Fostering is good. And she’s compassionate and loving and a nurturer from her wispy brown hair to her crazy little toes because of it.
But fostering is also difficult. It’s heartbreak, and confusion, and forcing flexibility on someone who might not cope with those changes easily.
You may not see my blunder as a big issue, and I understand that because we all parent differently. But I caused my child emotional stress by not giving her the level of communication she needed. It took about 24 hours for her questions and worries about our visitor to dwindle. She needed to know more information. And I freely gave answers and comfort whenever she brought the topic around to him again.
We don’t tell our children everything. In fact, I’d say our children are fairly sheltered. BUT, I won’t let my daughter’s young age keep me from talking to her about real life. About kids who need a safe place, or grownups who have a sickness and they need to get help, or a mistake mommy made and has to apologize for, or something we see that doesn’t fall in line with how God wishes for us to act. I won’t assume that she’s too young. I will continue to keep the words flowing. I don’t want the lines of communication between us to close before we even get to the difficult ‘teen parenting’ years. I want her to know she can ask, and I will answer.

March 9, 2017 - Oh Happy Daze

Peep's Day.

Today is an important day. It’s the anniversary of the day I first learned of a special little baby. I heard his name. I heard his age. And that was about all the information we were given.
Caseworker: “We have a 2 week old”
Me: “Ok, let me call Chris”
Me: “Babe, we got a call. A 2 week old”
Chris: “Ok” {such a Chris response. Simple. To the point.}
Me: {faking a calm demeanor on the phone with the caseworker like it’s no big deal} “Ok, we can do it”
Caseworker: “I’ll bring him by in an hour”
That’s essentially how it happens each time we have a placement. So simple, and yet so not simple at all.
And then there he was. Peep.

I don’t remember eating dinner that night. Newborn snuggles were enough to sustain me.
Not knowing whether a placement will stay the weekend or stay forever is emotionally fatiguing. Regardless, I always feel this instant need to connect with them as soon as they arrive and savor their little breaths. I’m desperate to attempt to absorb all of the heavy weight which seems to surround their little life like an unseen burden. I don’t usually know the actual story {that often comes later in bits and pieces}, but i’m not required to know the facts before bestowing unconditional love and safety on a child. So many unknowns in the beginning. So many questions. But the one sure constant is that their life is precious and my job is to savor it and protect it, all while honoring the birth parents who gave that child life. My heart instantly marks each ‘first contact’ with one of our placements so clearly, like a bookmark, and I often revisit those memories. I love revisiting that bookmark in my mind and praying for that child. For their health and safety and family and for them to know God. It’s all I have left to remember some of them, and those memories are so special to me.
Peep’s ‘first contact’ day holds great importance for our family and we will always celebrate it; but not in the way you may think.
I know a lot of families who celebrate a ‘gotcha day’. A day to commemorate the day they first met their child in an orphanage or at social services or the day the adoption papers were finalized. There’s quite a bit of controversy out there regarding the terminology used in ‘gotcha day’ and surrounding the idea of celebrating that day. I hate to be blunt, but I don’t really care enough to dip my toe into that drama pool. I’ll steer clear of the debate about whether or not celebrating ‘gotcha day’ is helpful or harmful. I follow the mindset that each family should do what is best and right for the children in their family. You. Do. You. Because YOU know your family. You know your adopted child or foster child and know what would be beneficial to them and what would be harmful to them.
As important as today day is for me, though, I can’t seem to gather up any cheer to actually celebrate it with a fun party, because I know the story. I know most of the who and what and why that resulted in Peep being separated from his birth parents. And I’ve been an observer to their struggle through social programs and treatment requirements and visitations. As much joy as I feel at having him in our home, I’m reminded that his presence here means he’s unable to be there. In their home. In their arms. I. Can’t. Imagine.
I’ll always feel this way about foster care:

There is joy in this process. There is happiness and relief and hope for Peep’s future. But God calls us to also share in the sorrowful burden his birth parents are carrying, and only God can provide true healing and peace for all parties. I hope you’ll take a minute to pray for that for Peep’s birth parents; and then take it a step further and include all parents, kids, social workers, attorney’s, and judges involved in these types of situations.

Though I wouldn’t label my feelings as ‘happy’, there is JOY in this day. So we WILL celebrate this day as Peep’s day, in which we honor his story and all those who played a part in his life. His birth parents and his social workers and his therapists and his teachers and his nannies and his family and all of the people who are the pillars of love and support in his life. And him. We will celebrate him and the obstacles he continues to overcome. And though I can’t bring myself to cheer about the fact that we ‘got’ him, I will bask in the joy that I feel in being his mother and the grace that God has bestowed on Chris and I throughout our parenting journey, and the wonder of being trusted with another precious life.
Happy Peep’s day to all! We’re going to spend the day filling out the first round of adoption papers and reminiscing as we look at our photo albums and praying for Peep’s continued development and praying for his birth mom and dad.

OHappyDaze

Looking for the lovely in life.

Boy Meets World {now World, meet Boy}

Tidal Wave.

(foster)Mom Fail.

Peep's Day.