Missing My Mom: The One Year

On this day one year ago, my mother died in a house fire. She apparently was cooking chicken when a grease fire started. She was unable to get out of the house. Did she try to fight the fire? Did she fall? Did the fire grow so quickly she had no time? I do not know. I do not know why she barley made it 10 feet from the stove before landing on the ground and then dying of cardiac arrest due to smoke inhalation and congestive heart failure.

In many ways, I am still in shock. I'm still processing this as reality. Only in August did the heavy sadness sink in. When the days grew closer to the one-year mark of our last phone conversation and the date I last saw her, I could hardly believe it . . . as if I sorta expected to be able to call her or see her on my next visit. No one should go a year without talking to her mother. Right? But I have many, many years left of not talking to her.

My mother is dead.

And when we decided to start the adoption process again, my heart cringed more deeply. I couldn't tell my mother. She doesn't know another grand is on the way.

In these moments of sadness, I also reel from another reality . . . thinking about the day when Anna Zane aches for me, yearns to tell me, wants me to know, but I can't respond because I'm no longer on this planet. It rips a mother's heart. I'll be in heaven, griping Jesus' by the lapels, saying, "My baby needs me. My baby is hurting."

But I suppose He's already responded:

"What father among you, if his son ask for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

Marriage Counseling

This weekend I celebrate six years married to my Mister. Yes, I could drone on and on (droning to you, gushing to me) about what a catch I snagged . . . about how he still pursues my heart . . . about how he leads with stability and strength . . . about how these are the most wonderful years . . . about how I love/adore/respect him. But I won't. (Teehee. Sneaky, right?)

In truth, the many, many reasons I cherish him are summed up in this: We attended marriage counseling this year. 

(Now before you call the church prayer chain or stage an exorcism, hear the rest of the story.)

Before we married, we went through premarital counseling. Our counselor at the time mentioned the benefit of counseling throughout your marriage. And then a few months into marriage, we sought out a mentor couple to keep us accountable, pray with/for us, and to be friends we could confide in and rely on regarding our marriage. Our marriage mentors suggested attending marriage counseling every five years as a "check-up" or sorts. And then again when I joined a moms' group, I learned several other ladies had utilized marriage counseling for non-crisis "maintenance." So, we committed to one another to attend counseling--at the very least--every five years.

Friends, what a blessing it was . . . it is! We only went four sessions, but benefited greatly from learning how to get out of "ruts" and how to analyze our heart/mind before speaking. It was also encouraging to receive cheerleading from an expert and applaud us for doing something right--ha! Sometimes just a fresh set of eyes helps see elements of your relationship you've never ascertained.

My whole point in writing this post isn't too brag about how we've "got it all together" or to promote how fantastic we are. My point is to hopefully let you know that counseling, of any variety, is not the taboo, hush hush horror so many perceive. Attending counseling is not a sign of failure or weakness but a sign of commitment and loyalty and strength.

Nothing speaks love to me more than seeing my sweetheart passionate about maintaining, preserving, and nurturing our relationship. Marriage counseling? It's the most romantic gesture yet.

Happy anniversary, love.

Happy Home . . . Study

Whew. The home study is now just a memory.

And yes that sentence was waaaay more dramatic than the actual home study. :-)

Our case worker just wanted to see the new additions to the house and where a new baby would sleep, etc. (Don't worry, JHF, she loved the house.) Then, we set down for our interview. Essentially we talked about life with Anna, what we expected with a new baby, discipline tactics, work schedules, adoption scenarios, childcare, and so forth. All in all it was great!

In this adoption-is-moving-right-along news, we learned that our approval will likely come within two weeks. Holy moly! Thus, I will start our profile book this weekend. Yet, on the other hand, our case worker reiterated that placements of African American cuties have been few and far between in the last year. So our wait may be long.

While my head is telling my heart to be guarded and stick with "let's see what happens," my heart is already filling with joy and excitement and hope. I even let myself purchase two small baby items today (gasp!) in a gender neutral green, of course.

First Day Photos

Monday was Anna's first day of her new "big girl" two-year-old class at her school. She loved her new backpack and was still insistent on carrying her lunch bag. When we made it to class, she walked right in, easy breezy. Ms. Mindy reported that Anna did very well her first day and looks to be the class leader. **proud mama**

Giving me the big cheese before we drive to school.

She's really interested in taking pictures with her camera. She HAD to capture a shot of her new blanket (which she adores). This "blanket" is scraps from Joann's (a whole $3 investment). Mimi graciously connected the pieces and added a trim. Ta-dah, "my pink bank-ket."

And another one for good measure.

And what's better than a foot rub after a hard day? (We have the Thompsons to thank for her unending requests of "Scratch, my heet (feet)." Thanks a lot.

Four Years Without a Father

Today marks four years since my father died. Perhaps, this is old news to you, but it is still fresh to my heart.

Whether one had a close relationship with her father or not, living without a dad feels strange. Birthdays that were always celebrated are now just days. My Christmas list keeps getting shorter because death keeps stealing my loved ones. And milestones--happy and sad--contain a small sting. My dad never knew Anna Zane, and he certainly won't know about our new addition.

Brain cancer took my father, but I am reminded that sin is the main culprit. Sin is why we have death. And our lives after the death of a loved one will always carry a hint (or a huge helping) of loss because death isn't what God intended. It isn't natural, not really.

Yet, my verse-of-the-day calendar reminded me today: "God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). And that's what I call comfort.

Anna-isms #5

Boy, do I have a lot to tell you.

Let's start off with a video. Nap time is getting more and more interesting as she's getting older. About once or twice a week, a nap doesn't happen. Sometimes this happens instead:

Anna Zane is a wee bit crazy about clothes, putting them on and off herself. If they are pink, it's a huge bonus. She adores pink anything. Anything. Why God didn't make more veggies pink, I'll never know.

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In July, the Thompsons visited. As usual, Anna and her cousin Gracyn took a bath together. They'd been in the big tub for about 30 minutes with me checking on them every few minutes or so. When I came in to let out the water, dry them off, etc, the girls started picking up the bath toys. Gracyn holds up something (the size of a small rock), and asks, "What's this?"

"Looks like poop," I reply.

Gracyn quickly drops it. Looks at me as serious as can be and says, "I need to wash my hands."

Obviously, the poo belonged to Anna, not Gracyn. These things happen ya know. We, the grown ups, laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.

I wish that was the last poop story. It's not.

In our usual routine, I talk to Anna through the monitor in the morning, telling her I will be up to get here in just a few minutes . . . like five at the most. This particular morning she asks if she can get out of bed. I always let her. (She's in a toddler bed now.) Being a big girl in a big girl bed, she's really into doing big girl things (a la the clothes fiasco from above). I walk in to find she's "changed" her diaper . . . her poopy diaper. She did successfully get it in the diaper pail, along with some smeared poop all over the handle. There's poop on the dresser drawer handles because she had to get the wipes--duh. She has about 10 dirty wipes in the floor. She has on a new pull-up, which she put on while leaning against her bed, specifically her pillow. Smeared poop is all over the pillow.

Y'all.

(And I thought this poop story was bad . . . . )

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In August, she put corn up her nose during dinner. Since Bryan was there, I was free to panic. (During both the sesame incident and the eye laceration, I was sans Mr. Medicine. Of course, he was at the store for the sesame and met me at the ER; but the eye . . . .) Thankfully, Bryan got it out after a few tries. Imagine the lecture we gave her.

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When I've asked her to do something (like pick up a toy, etc), she's responded a few times with, "Mom, I'm busy.

Driving down a hill the other day, she told me, "Mom, go haster, haster" (translation: faster). The girl likes speed. We're seeing an amusement park trip in our near future. During the simulated movie at the Science and History Museum, I just knew she was going to be scared. Nope. Wanted to sit in the seat by herself and loved every minute of it.

I hear this 1 million times a day: "Let me do it by myself" or "Let me try."

Bryan wants to call her Anita because she also says this, somewhat in a stutter, over and over: "I need a. I need a."

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Speaking of our independent daredevil, she said goodbye to the baby floatie and did this all in 1 hour:



Last, please enjoy a few songs by the wonderful Anna Zane:

 

Baby Youree #2?

It's with a lot of excitement and a hint of anxiety that the Youree Three announce we hope to become the Youree Four.

We initiated the process for domestic infant adoption in late July. At this point, we submitted our application and will have our home study in less than two weeks. According to my calculations, we could be a "waiting family" by the second week of October (at the latest). This means a placement could happen from that point on.

Hope Cottage is again our adoption agency of choice; however, this go around we've narrowed our match points. In other words, at this stage, we only want to be matched with an African American wee one. And this is where our bubble burst just a bit. When we communicated this to our case worker, she told us the placements of black children have been few and far between in the last 1.5 years.

(Wait. I just realized I need to make a family profile book. Yikes. Better get on that. . . )

When I talk about our sweet Anna Zane, especially with others considering adoption, I always express how I believe that God plans/creates the child for any family, no matter how the child comes to that family--birth or adoption. Yet, it is the uncertainty of being on this side of the adoption process that challenges my belief. For a minute, I was consumed by the dread of the "what ifs." But I really, really do believe that whatever God plans for our days, including our waiting days, is good . . . to its depth, it's good because He is good.

Will you pray for us, cheer for us as we walk this adoption journey? While I do plan to blog more about this adoption (in hopes to be an encouragement to others), if you wish to receive more regular email updates, please include your email address in a comment below.

Whoo-hoo, here we go!