where she needs to be...

Well, I must say, as difficult as the adjustment to school-life has been for me, I can't neglect to tell you all the wonderful things about it, too.


This girl is LOVING school.  She was made for it.  She comes home with so much new knowledge (in kindergarten!), and so many new, sweet friends.  One of them is the little girl in her class without a hand... how precious is that?

And for her to have an amazing art teacher that is beautifully bald like her... how could I be more grateful?

So even though the change of pace has been difficult, every day confirms that she's exactly where she needs to be.


Here's what they're working on this week alone. (this is a classical Christian school, fyi, from a reformed episcopal background, though students and faculty are from over 40 different churches in the area)  


We've got a ton of papers in the folder each day, and I love how she adds her own Caroline "signature" by putting a flower headband on top.  :)


On a little side note, I'm actually having fun with the school lunch thing for now!  (I know, I know- I'm sure this eagerness won't last too much longer...)  I spent an ungodly amount of money for this lunchbox (called a Laptop Lunch), but it's seriously been AMAZING for us.  In addition to school lunches, we take it on trips and pack snacks in it, and I don't know if it's the bright colors or the little, separate containers, but I can pack a bunch of veggies in there and they'll surely be gobbled up.

If you search on Pinterest, you can find parents who get a little crazy, over-the-top obsessive about this lunch packing thing, but for me, it's kinda fun to think of what simple things I can fit into each container, and the best part is- it miraculously comes home EMPTY every time.  (that probably makes it worth the investment...)


Here's a lunch I packed the other day-- 1/2 turkey/cheese sandwich, Pirate Booty, cucumbers & carrots with ranch to dip in, a pickle, blueberries, and a cookie.  Not to shabby, eh?


Here was yesterday's-- 2 hardboiled eggs, salad with ranch, a muffin (just taken out of the freezer-- made these with her several weeks ago), veggie straws, grapes, and a cheese stick.


What's also nice about having big sis in school is that I've gotten much more one-on-one time with this handsome fella.


He is growing by leaps and bounds now at 10 months, and everyone concurs that he is the most content, happy baby around.  (Thank you, God.)


He's having a good time exploring the house on his own and taking a couple of naps before it's time to go pick up sister.  He is usually cracking up laughing at her on the way home-- his way of saying he missed her.


I'd say the feeling is mutual on her side, too.  :)

Still trying to figure out how to help decompress the after-school exhaustion and irritability.  (Whew, it's hard!  Some days I feel like my child is possessed!)  But it'll come.  (...right?)

Still.  Even amidst the craziness, God has been gracious to pour so much blessing upon our heads.

trapped on the train...

Nobody told me it would feel this way.  No one warned me about this.  (well, maybe they did, but not sure I was listening...)

Sure, I've seen all the teary-eyed mommies waving goodbye to their kindergarteners on the first day of school, but it seems like it doesn't take them long before they've got their head in the game again.  They're texting on their phones in the pick-up lane after school.  They're settling into the routine of the year just fine.

Everyone posed school as "it'll be SO great when she's in school!  You'll finally have some time to get things done," to which I would longingly dream of the day... oh, if only school would get here faster...

But now that I'm here, many days I'm feeling like I'm in constant tailspin.  Maybe it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

(I guess it's similar to how we tell singles "oh, it'll be so much better when you're MARRIED!  You won't struggle with loneliness or anything anymore!"  Umm, why do we lie like that?  Who is going to be honest with them, that marriage, though it is AWESOME, is very difficult and hard work, too?  Aren't we setting them up for some major disappointment in life when their expectations are false and unrealistic?  Just a side note, from working with college students, I guess...)

I suppose I don't see those other moms crying alone on their beds at night, (do they?) or hear their conversations with their closest friends.  And it's not like anyone's going to post their own loneliness issues on facebook.

So I'm just going to go with the assumption that I'm still not the only one struggling with this adjustment to school.

Three weeks in, and school is great, don't get me wrong.  I'm FLOORED at the things Caroline is learning each day-- her colors in Latin and the history of Western civilization with hand motions, to name a few.  Her school and her teacher are beyond impressive, and we couldn't be more thrilled about where she is and how much she is flourishing there.

Every day she gets in the car and has so much to tell me (mostly with me asking 50 questions, of course).  What new friend she made, what her music teacher did to make the class laugh, how she got a "Resting Rooster" award for being still at naptime, what new phonograms she learned or what new game they played on the playground, who she sat with at lunch, or what she learned.

My heart rejoices to hear how she's growing, learning, thriving.

But that's not what I get to see.  What I see most often is an exhausted, hungry little girl who has worked hard behaving herself enough all day.  One who comes home and struggles with her tone, her choice of words, her lack of sleep (no, she's not sleeping at nap-time), and her lack of time to just PLAY.

I know she needs a soft place to fall.  I feel the same way.  But there's just not the TIME.

This school-thing is so TIME-demanding.  I know it's typical for working adults to be up everyday at 6:30am, and no one ever complains about it, but our household is just not adjusting to it well AT ALL.
Due to our jobs as a campus minister and a part-time worship director, we've got things going on many evenings.  How does this fit in to our new schedule where we are a constant state of exhausted mess, I wonder?   Jameson is the only one getting all the sleep.  (just not at the same time WE'D like to get sleep...ahem...)

Caroline and I went from sixteen hours a day together to FOUR.

Four hours a day.

And boy, those are quite the intense four little hours.  Even those hours are determined by the school schedule and demands-- washing the lunchbox, getting dinner ready, eating dinner, cleaning up from dinner, getting showered and ready for bed so we can do it all over again tomorrow...

I'm feeling locked-in.  Like I'm on this train that we can't get off, and there's no end in sight.  A train that goes for twelve more years?!  What happened to the days where we could just take a long weekend to see family, or plan a trip just because we needed one?  We're not able to go like we used to.   This train has a few little stops here and there, but even then, it's still dictating the when and where of our life.

I'm feeling acutely this loss of freedom, the loss of family (Marc's parents, who are our closest family, are not able to visit due to his father's severe dementia), the loss of time, and generally the loss of connection.

Oh, and all my jeans don't fit, either.

I'm ready to jump off this train, and I can't.

How long does it take until I will "enjoy the ride?"

putt putt...

Her first time at putt-putt.




This gal was in town again.  We love her!


And she loves us well.


Daddy was particular on how to swing.


Ahem, very particular.


And she swings...


And she scores!


(as her always-happy brother was content to watch from the stroller)


Sweet memories.

milestone makers...

We're in two different stages of parenthood... early school age and baby.

Which means we've got lots of firsts and milestones happening all around us.


Whenever this little guy reaches a milestone, he isn't content to just have one, so there's usually a grouping of them altogether on the same day.

So, within 24 hours of one another, he...


1) figured out how to hold up his sippy cup to drink.


(He loves it.  At least for a few minutes, until he gets bored and lets it drop to the floor.)

2) He also figured out an honest-to-goodness clap.  Before, he was wildly swinging his arms vertically next to one another, hoping for a sound.  But yesterday, the hands came together just right.

AND... (watch this 7 second video, if I figured out how to upload it correctly)

3)  Jameson is blowing kisses, now!  Watch out world!


This gal is also making some milestones, too.

1) She's got her first loose tooth.


AND
2) She had her first day of bad behavior in school.  (I know, not a great milestone, but a milestone, nonetheless...)  Apparently the boy she sits next to in class wanted to play something on the playground that she didn't want to play, so naturally?  She kicked him.  :)

Now, this is usually a "red light" offense that will immediately send her to the principal's office, but because it was the first time, her teacher gave her grace.  (So I guess I'd better brace myself for the next time...)  Though Caroline and the boy worked it out, she had big tears about it when I picked her up from school.  Hence, this note she wrote to give to him tomorrow:  "I'm super-duper sorry I kicked you.  I like to sit next to you though sometimes I do silly things."  ha ha!


They're growing and changing way too fast.
I love them, I love them.

a lesson for the kids...

Go ahead.  Grab your kids and gather 'round the computer.  This post will surely give you lots of good things to talk about!

Hello!  My name is Amy.  (and that's my baby, Jameson)

I'd like you to meet my daughter, Caroline, (she's 5) and our friend, Mark.  (he's a college student)

What do you notice about them?
Can you see something different about each of them?

That's right!  Caroline doesn't have any hair, and Mark doesn't have any legs!
You probably want to know why, so let me tell you.

Caroline has alopecia.  She is allergic to her hair.  It all fell out!
That makes her different.
But it's okay, because do you need to have hair to enjoy life?  No!

Mark was born with legs that didn't work right.  They got in his way and slowed him down.
When he was seventeen, he had a surgery where the doctors took them off his body.
(Now he can get around alot better!)
That makes him different.
But it's okay, because do you have to have legs to enjoy life?  No!


People without hair can do the same things that people WITH hair can do!


And people without legs can do the same things that people with legs can do!  Like drive a car!


This is how Mark drives his car.  He presses on special handles that push the pedals for him.  When he wants to go faster, he pushes to the right.  If he needs to slow down, he pushes on the left side.

He walks up stairs and even climbs high mountains on his hands!  (isn't he amazing?)
He swims and goes to school and has friends, just like you.
He has a job and he likes to cook.
He's so outgoing and funny- you would really like him!


God makes all of us different from each other, and that's a good thing!  
Some people have brown or blonde hair.
Some people don't have hair at all!
Some people have problems with their bodies on the insides.
Some people use wheelchairs.
Some people talk differently,
and some people don't have "thinkers" that work right.
Some people have to take medicine every day,
and some people have to wear glasses on their eyes.
We all have different eye colors and skin colors,
and they are all beautiful!

God makes each of us different from each other.  He doesn't want us to all be the same!

So what makes you different?


God even makes families different!

There are big families and small families.
Families that grow when babies come out of their tummies and families that God grows through adoption.

This is my family.
My children didn't come out of my tummy, but they are still my children.
We adopted them into our family.  (our friend, Mark, was adopted from India, too!  Isn't that neat?)
We love each other so much.

We have different skin colors.
My skin is like creamy vanilla. Caroline's skin is peachy caramel.
Daddy's skin is tan.  Jameson's skin is like rich chocolate.

Our skin doesn't have to match to be a family.


God makes us all different, and He wants us to be that way!
So let's praise Him for all of the ways He makes us special.

tug and pull...

I'm a little embarrassed to admit I'm struggling with this transition to kindergarten.  I mean, come on.  My kid is not heading off to college.  She's not getting married.  She's in kindergarten, for pete's sake.  Why am I so emotional?

As I've talked with a few older women in my life, though, I've been so encouraged by their responses to me.  They've helped me see that this is really the first transition towards independence that the parent-child relationship experiences.  The first of many transitions towards independence.  The first goodbye of many future goodbyes.

It's a necessary transition.  It's a good thing.

But it still hurts.

Up until now, we could structure our days (or not structure them) however we wanted.  As a family, we had the flexibility to go and do without much restraining us.  The days with her home were long and challenging, for SURE, (ahem,... let me not forget that!)

but now that it's behind me, I'm feeling the sadness of days I won't ever get back again.

My sweet friends reassured me this sadness is normal, that they'd be more concerned for me if I didn't feel like this.

(I know this is the point where all of my sweet homeschooling friends interject, "BUT!......."  But I know that, for now, that's not what is best for my child, for our family, and for my mental sanity.)

So while she's enjoying a fast, motivated pace at school, I'm finding myself on the complete opposite of the spectrum this week.

Sluggish.
Unmotivated.
Exhausted, mostly.  This family hasn't seen so many consistent 6:30am's on the clock in YEARS!

(And a late night of RUF last night certainly doesn't make it easy to "get going" this morning....)  I didn't cook a lick this week, thanks to friends who brought us a meal one night, and the fact that we had a ton of leftovers to eat, and I don't know that I could have if I had tried!)

How do you families DO it?

In yesterday's post I showed you the picture of Caroline's art teacher with alopecia.  I am still in awe over how God orchestrated this incredible blessing.  Well, this year, I'm volunteering to be the "art mom" and assist the class each Thursday morning.  Yesterday was my first morning to do so, and it was so, SO good for my spirits.

It warmed my heart to able to watch her class giggle at the book the teacher was reading to them.  To listen to the Latin commands and phonics chanting/signing they were using.  To see with my own eyes how much she was engaged in the learning process and know that this was worth every penny. I met the kids in her class and wondered if any of them will be friends for life.  I even stole a a few kisses from her (before it becomes too embarrassing to kiss mom in front of your class...).

As I walked her class down the hallway to art, she held my hand.

It meant alot to have her Mama there, too.

She's so excited.  She's so involved and thriving.  Oh my goodness, I'm SO happy for her.

Yet grieving for what was.

The tug and pull on a mama's heart as she watches her child grow.

I suppose this is what every major transition towards independence is like.

Naturally, it's not as hard on Marc, since it doesn't change his schedule all that much, (except he is the one to get up early and drive her to school) and she is still home when he comes home.

But it's my life, my days, that are far different now.

And her absence is making my heart grow that much fonder...

a whole new world...

It's the third day of kindergarten, folks, and I didn't realize how lonely I would be without her.

I mean, I was the parent who was BEYOND ready to get school going.  I didn't shed any tears the first day when we dropped her off.  But these last few days have been so loooong without hearing her voice, or watching her play, or eating lunch together, or just being with her.

I miss her.

I know I'll adjust, but right now?

I miss her.


She was a combination of excitement and nerves the first day.  (I guess we were, too.)  It just all felt so surreal taking this picture in front of her school.


This can't be happening...


At her desk, ready for school to begin.

Now, hear me out.  I'm not having a hard time with the letting go and letting-someone-else-teach-my-kid part of this.  I know she is right where she is supposed to be.


We PRAYED for Caroline to get this kindergarten teacher.  We already know her because her two daughters (middle school age) are also adopted through the same agency we used for Jameson.  She is an AMAZING teacher, and she already knows and loves my daughter.  (Thank you, God!)

In Caroline's class, there is another special little girl who was born without one hand.  She struggles, just as Caroline does, with the insecurities of being different and people's reactions to her.  The first day of school, the combined kindergarten classes had "rug time," and the theme of the week is "I am fearfully and wonderfully made."  Caroline's teacher introduced the friend without the hand to the class, and asked if she wanted to tell her classmates about it.  She didn't.

Then the teacher had Caroline come sit in her lap, introduced her to all the kindergarteners, and asked if Caroline would like to share what makes her "fearfully and wonderfully made."

And I couldn't have been more proud of my daughter.  She told them EVERYTHING about her alopecia.

The first day of class.  And she felt SO good about it.

Thank you, God.

As amazing as this school and education is-- and it is crazy impressive-- there's another big reason we chose it...


Meet Caroline's art teacher.  Also an alopecia buddy.

She wears no wig.  She is an incredible Christian woman.

And my daughter will have a teacher EVERY WEEK that looks like her.

Ummm, how AMAZING is THAT?!?

God, I do not deserve such a blessing!


So my little gal is THRIVING in her new classroom.  After just two days, she's already speaking some Latin, doing some sign language, and learning a TON.  Only 12 kids in her class, and not a minute is wasted.  She's already coming home and teaching us a thing or two... :)

And while she's hard at work...


I'm at home with this wonderful, handsome guy... (yes, we are now at that stage...)  :)

He might be walking before he gets a single tooth!  ha ha!


I know God has us where He wants us.

It's just hard to say goodbye to those precious years I had with her.
I know there is joy in the years to come, too.
But right now, let me be an emotional, boo-hoo'ing mama.

And pray for our family, as all four of us adjust
to this new schedule and this new world of school.

story matters (video)...

A few days ago I posted the story I shared at RUF last week.  Didn't know it was being video taped, but here it is "live" if any of you are interested in listening!

camping and kindergarten...

Last week was Marc's birthday, and Caroline did the BEST job at keeping his present a secret for several weeks... a TENT!


So Caroline and Marc decided to test it out for us in the backyard as a little Daddy-daughter date Friday night.  (Jameson and I agreed to stay in the house with the air conditioning and cozy beds.)  :)  They got the tent all set up,

but first...


We had our Meet the Teacher visit to Kindergarten!

And God is so, SO kind to give us the teacher we had prayed for, too.  She already knows and loves Caroline, and she herself is an adoptive mama to her two girls.


It was a little surreal seeing her classroom and thinking that starting this Tuesday, our family is in for quite a life transition.  I know she's BEYOND ready for school, and we've been waiting on this day for what feels like forever, but who knows what I'll feel like on Tuesday when I actually say goodbye to her... (okay, I got a little teary just typing that sentence.  Get a grip, Amy.)

Then, that evening, it was back to serious camping business with Daddy...


A camp fire and smores before bedtime were in order, of course.

It was a smashing success, and they're ready to take the tent to the mountains.  (uh, not sure if Jameson and I will make it for that trip, either....)


But these two loved it.  And I looooooove them.

story matters...

I shared part of our family's story in RUF tonight, as we've just begun studying the book of Romans together this semester.  Tonight focused on "story matters."

Here's what I shared...

**************************************

When I hear people throw around the phrase "God has a wonderful plan for your life," I honestly can't help but cringe a little inside. I do believe that God has purposes for everyone, and that He is masterfully writing a story in each one of us, but many times, I'm not sure I'd be so bold to call it a "wonderful" plan.

Because what about the dark chapters in our stories?  The chapters filled with tragedy?  How are these so "wonderful"?  What about the times when I feel God painfully stripping away at the things I desire, in order that my desires might line up with His?  What about the times when I made so many stupid mistakes and created addictions to soothe my pain?  What about the unjustifiable parts in the story for which no one will ever be able to give me an answer?   Are these, too, a part of "God's wonderful plan"?

A few years after we were married, my husband, Marc, and I began experiencing the disappointments and heartaches of infertility.  We longed to have a child.  Over the course of two years, we tried everything medically possible: in vitro, frozen embryos, you name it.

It was as if God was playing a cruel joke on me, preventing us from having a baby.  We were desperate and grieving.  These were not moments I could have believed something as simple and trite as "God has a wonderful plan for your life."

But it was through those awful chapters of infertility that God led us to a twenty-one year old girl named Megan, who was, at the time, five months pregnant with what would become our baby girl, Caroline.

At the birth and adoption of our sweet Caroline, it was as if the world was set right again.  The story resolved!  And for two years, I basked in the role of being a new mom to a beautiful baby girl.  Though the adjustment to motherhood was definitely a challenging one, I felt God's care for me.  His faithfulness to bring us through tough times was evident.

And then, one evening Marc and I noticed several locks of her wavy, brown hair missing.  We'd find her pacifier lying in her crib, mysteriously covered in hair.  We'd rinse her head in the bathtub and notice bald patches appearing and growing.

WHAT IS GOING ON, GOD?!?! I anxiously cried out to Him.  What am I doing wrong that I can't even keep HAIR on my child's head??!

Over the next ten months, Marc and I tearfully and helplessly watched our vibrant, active toddler metamorphasize into what looked like a sick, bald cancer patient.

Now, it would take me pages and pages to sufficiently describe the inner agony I experienced during this time.  It might sound a little dramatic, I understand.  Afterall, it was just hair.  But you see, in my story, this was NOT supposed to happen.  I HATED the story that was unraveling for me and for my daughter, and you better believe I fought it tooth and nail.  I was not in control here.   Her hairloss was called alopecia totalis, something I had never heard of before.  It wasn't a sickness, but more like an allergy her immune system developed to her own hair.

A bald daughter, God?  Really?  That didn't exactly fit into the dreams of what my family would look like.  No.  This story was not acceptable.  I was supposed to have a typical looking kid, and deal with the typical kid stuff.  And here God was making me the Mama of a daughter who will have to face the challenges and insecurities of life without a single hair on her head.  

This was not going the way I wanted it to go.  As I wrestled against the Author, I progressively began to see the beauty in the Psalms of Scripture.  Not necessarily in the "Great are you, Lord" Psalms, but those with words like "How long will you forget me, O Lord?" and "Darkness is my only friend" kinds of Psalms.  That's just where I was.  And to think, a holy God included these types of deep lament in His scriptures to encourage me and invite me to express my anger and my doubt to Him.  He could handle it.

At the end of that looong, dark chapter in my life, I was finally able to accept alopecia, thanks to the Holy Spirit, the community of believers around me, and some really good counseling.  I began to embrace this "wonderful plan" the Lord had for my life.

But when it came time to adopt a second time, I was gripped with fear.  What birthmom would ever pick my family now?  What birthmother would want to place their precious baby into a family that looked so unusual?  As you can imagine, having a bald daughter means we get alot of stares and varying reactions from people in public.  It was hard enough dealing with our daughter's differences, so we decided we'd adopt a caucasian baby.  You know, minimize the reaction.  

And then, last October, there came a birthmom!  She narrowed it down to two families to interview, and we were one of them.  We loved her, she loved us.  But in the end, she picked the other family.

Once again, God prevented!  No, no, NO!  This was NOT how the story should go, God.  And it left us speechless and full of doubts in His goodness.

But HE knew what He was doing.  HE knew the story (dare I say "the wonderful plan"?) He was writing loooong before we did.

Because it was that pain of being rejected as parents for the lily white baby boy that caused Marc and I to ask questions about what the Lord's purposes for us might be.  Maybe God had written baldness into our story to prepare us for more stares, more differences.  Maybe we weren't supposed to be the normal, white family who takes the family portrait on the beach in matching white polos and khaki shorts.  Maybe God was calling my family portrait to look different than what I had initially hoped.

Maybe all those urban mission trips to the southside of Chicago that caused Marc and I to fall in love with the richness of African American culture weren't in vain afterall.  Maybe our conversations about having a black son throughout the years weren't just in folly.

Maybe God was preventing us for a greater purpose.  And maybe, in the midst of such great pain, now was the time.

So around midnight one evening in early November, Marc and I made the commitment to pursue the adoption of a black baby boy, which sadly is the least desired type of infant to adopt.  I sent a quick email message to our case worker requesting her to change our paperwork before heading off to bed that night.

Many of you know what came next.

Less than 8 hours later, another birthmother and birthfather sat in front of five family photo albums to select just the right family for their baby.  And when they saw the joy on the face of my beautifully bald daughter, that's when they knew we were the family for them.

Well, of course.  Because isn't that just how God works?   The thing I feared would KEEP us from adopting a baby now became the very reason I WOULD receive one.

That same afternoon, November the 8th, a Haitian birthmother went into labor.  Not a single soul was present at the hospital to welcome my son into the world.   Only a male hospital worker stood at her bedside, holding her hand and reassuring her that what she was doing was an amazing thing for her baby.  Eleven days later, Marc and I were handed a bundled-up 6 pound baby boy with radiantly beautiful CHOCOLATE SKIN.

I'd NEVER have imagined that my story would include a bald daughter and a black son.  I'm still in shock!  It's not the story I would have written for myself, but in the end, underneath such stinging pain, God actually was writing a more wonderful story than I could have imagined.

He did have a wonderful plan for my life, but it didn't look the way I thought it would.

I've learned that God loves me FAR too much than to simply give me what I want.

It's at this point my story (and all of our stories, really) say "to be continued." Most of the time we don't have any idea what He's doing or what lies ahead for us.  We dream, we hope, we tell Him those things that we would like.  But who knows what He will choose to write into the future chapters of our lives?
He doesn't promise it will be easy, but He promises He will always be with us.
 
He doesn't promise us a story without suffering, but He offers us His Son.  A Son who knows suffering.

He knows what He is doing.

We can trust the Author's pen.