Finally Five

It's been an eternity in the making -- if you ask Anna Zane. To me, it feels like only a flutter and here she is: Five years old.

She's fantasized about five for months, assuming it means ears pierced and pets welcomed. This morning she reported on her growth in height and strength . . . just over night.

We've visited kindergarten roundup. We've played with friends "alone" in the backyard. (Why am I saying "we"? Please. It is all her.) Gone to the restroom without an adult. Said adios to tonsils and adenoids in a braver, tougher fashion than I could ever muster. Learned to use the brakes on her bike. Planted vegetables. Trimmed bushes with real clippers. Stopped napping. And all of this while yet four. What will happen during year five??????

I'm proud of her. She is a free spirit, loves to create, has a knack for math, competes with the best of them, is a fiercely loyal friend, loves her family deeply, dreams of being big, and is certain she and her sister are twins. My life is more meaningful, more vibrant, just more because of her.

I've shared this poem before, but I couldn't stop thinking about it today. For my eldest daughter, with all my love:

17 Again

Three tiny stanzas to turn into three

Famous words. Your 10 fingers and toes

Take hold of my one heart.

Until 18, I have you. Until 99, I’ll miss 

You. Two eyes, two ears—we share it all.

Millions of curls to adore.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love

You. My little sunshine, redeemed again.

Two. Seventeen. Eleven.

Far as the Curse Is Found

Confession: I like Once Upon a Time, the television show (well, except for that Peter Pan season). It's like a fairytale soap opera. The way the writers twist the stories of well-known characters always entertains me. Each season -- or every few episodes, I should say -- some sort of curse is enacted or a powerful spell cast that puts the heroes in peril. So campy at times, but so great for a break from my mothering, working, managing, cleaning, cooking life.

When I think about curses, I associate them with fantasy -- a fairytale, a witch's story, a voodoo religion. Or I think about humor and slang sayings: Curse it. Don't curse. I'm cursed for life.

However, because I am a Christian and believe the Bible to be a true story, I must then believe a curse, THE curse is real. We may not live in Storybrooke, but we do live with, live under a hefty curse.

I've never felt the weight of this curse -- God allowing sin to takes its full effect -- more than I have this year. I am suspicious that every January I will say the same. Each year that passes exposes me to more and more of its effects. The cumulative nature of the ire and ick makes life boggy and treacherous.

Unlike the curses of television, this curse is real and more horrible than imaginable. It doesn't go away with time or self-soothing or vacations. I can't escape the curse. You can't escape the curse.

Although I have already buried too many people at this point in my life, the death of my dear, dear friend last year rocked my world. I felt the loss in so many ways. Loss. Lost. Gone. A deep cavern without a bottom. The loss of Bethany feels like a nightmare. I feel the weight of the curse of death and all its ramifications.

This sin-stained curse is not a scary scene in a movie or an antagonist in a book. This is not the Evil Queen or Darth or Voldemort. It's death alive and well in our souls, minds, bodies. Death of the dying sort and death of corrupting sort and death of the molding variety. This curse is death both now and later.

It shows itself in a three young kids yearning for their mother for the rest of their lives.
Mothers burying children too soon.
Tumors in our brains, ovaries, breasts, and colons.
Viruses ravaging our body for 24 hours or 24 years.
Disease wrecking our nervous system.
Men addicted to pornogrophy.
Women beaten and bruised by lovers.
Hang nails and splinters.
Food allergies and noses that will never stop running.
Boys who shoot their fathers with a gun.
House fires that take lives and homes.
People who use words as weapons.
People who use religion as weapons.
Men who force sex upon women.
Wives and husbands who cheat.
Kids that disobey and tell lies.
Dry skin and oily hair and bad vision and varicose veins.
Kidnapped children.
People who kidnap children.
Girls who form cliques and gossip and exclude and isolate.
Single parents working two jobs.
Religious persecution.
Orphans who cannot find a forever family.
Stomach and bowels that refuse to function properly.
Diabetes that silently destroys a body.
Curved spines and aching joints
Walkers. canes. wheelchairs. knives. guns. alarm systems.
Drugs and alcohol worshipped as gods.

And these are just the people I know . . . er, a small sampling of the people I know.

The curse is found far and wide. Even if you don't believe in it, you can't escape it. But both like and so very unlike Once Upon a Time, there can be a happy ending. There can be some relief, some respite, some hope that this curse does not have the last laugh. This is not the end of the story. We have not reached "The End" quite yet.

I have sang with gumption this recent Christmas season: No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground; He comes to make His blessings flow far as the curse is found. We know the curse lives far and wide and deep, yet Jesus Christ "redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us" (Galatians 3:13). By enduring the full, complete brunt of the curse, Jesus can offer us hope in the midst of sorrow -- beauty for ashes. This hope points to a time when wrongs will be thoroughly right, death will play its last act, and redemption will be in full bloom. 

So, in my grief, my loneliness, my sadness, I know His living grace and love runs farther still, far as the curse is found . . . no matter what shape it takes. 

Anna Gets Surgery for Christmas

Before we discuss the big "s" word, let's talk about another one: survive. The mister and I survived the Christmas week, which was filled with a plague-like virus. If you follow me on Facebook, you've read my post after whiny post about the HORROR of this virus that leached on to Anna, Louisa, and myself. By the day after Christmas, the Yourees had experienced excessive amounts of snot, two rounds of antibiotics, more diarrhea than I even care to mention, and vomit. Please come quickly, new year.

Yet, we've got a different sort of medical issue to tackle on Monday. That spunky gal of mine, Anna Zane, is all set for surgery on Monday morning. Her tonsils and adenoids have got to go. Although, I will miss that look of shock each time a doctor looks down her throat -- almost jumping back in amazement. "Her tonsils are huge!"

Yes, we know. Now is the time to have them removed. To be honest, we are not totally sure what we are in for. We've heard from the doctor that the recovery can be intense and long. Bryan stocked the fridge and freezer with all sorts of hot and cold liquids. We've got new movies and crafts and books. Here's to hoping she handles it well! Here's to hoping I handle it well -- hahaha.

The surgery has already been bumped from 7:00 a.m. to 12:10 p.m. AGH! Tomorrow we will make it, but we'd love for you to pray for Anna in the afternoon and the following days. Adios, tonsils!

If Lou Had Been a Boy . . .

In a previous post, I discussed the baby names that did not make the cut. We also had a third girl's name. Louisa Bryn Caroline was almost Zella Ruth Caroline. Zella was my paternal grandmother; Ruth was Bryan's paternal grandmother's middle name. Ruth too was my maternal grandmother's middle name. It was a grandmotherly fit. But in the end, that sweet girl looked like a Louisa. We knew that was her name the moment we knew she was ours.

When we announced our pursuit of a second child, we fielded a few questions here and there about the gender. Would we go for a boy because we already had a girl? For whatever reason, most who asked were surprised when we said no. In fact, while we were open to welcoming a boy into our family, we really wanted a girl . . . for no explainable, logical reasons other than we just felt like girls were meant to be our kiddos.

A friend of mine and former Fort Worth Moms Blog contributor wrote an excellent piece about our culture's obsession with having balanced genders in a family, "one of each," and still a belief that a "father needs a son." Certainly, in the adoption world that sentiment is less true because the root issue of genetics is taken out of the equation. You should give the article a read; it's interesting and makes a good point.

But I digress.

If God had given the Yourees a boy, this would have been his name: Silas Baker Joseph Youree.

Silas: When we were dating, Bryan cited his paternal grandfather (Forest Eugene) and his maternal grandmother (Betty Zane) as the two greatest influences in his life. As you likely know, our eldest daughter is named Anna Zane. So, for a boy's name we chose Silas. You know how Matthew and Levi are the same name? Well, Forest and Silas are the same name. Silas would be in honor of Papa Youree as we like to call him.

Baker: Baker was my mother's maiden name, the surname of her father Paul Albert Baker. Because he passed before I was born, he's always been mysterious to me. I've noted that no one in my family really ever had anything negative of consequence to say about him. Actually, quite the opposite; apparently to know him was to love him. And I'm sorry I never did. So, for me, the name means being a man of integrity, of empathy, of strength. It means all the qualities I imagine Papaw Baker possessing, all the qualities I hope he possessed.

Joseph: This is a family name from Bryan's side. Rumor has it Bryan was almost named Joseph. Thus, adding Joseph to the mix honors his father's dreams and family heritage. Joseph is also a nod to my dad, who's middle name was Joe. His initials were B. J. This little boy's initials would have been S. B. J. The name Joseph was for our dads.

But it doesn't look like Silas Baker Joseph will join our family . . . yet. (Hahahaha. Just kidding there, Bryan. Please don't faint.) I suppose, though, never say never.

Lots About Louisa #2

I couldn't wait to write this post.

Louisa's procedure went well last week. (Although she was not a fan of recovery.) Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the well wishes, prayers, and concern. Today the follow up visit with the urologist confirmed her bladder functions perfectly. This news makes us more and more hopeful that a tethered spinal cord --and the subsequent surgery -- is not a reality for Lou. The appointment with the neurosurgeon is next week. While we anticipate him wanting to follow Louisa for a few more months or years -- and even the possibility of another MRI -- we are optimistic he agree these positive test results point to a healthy spinal cord.

Now enough of this medical jargon. Let's talk about that cutie Lou Lou.

This big girl is ONE YEARS OLD! How in the world that is true I have zero idea. I so remember in the first days of her little life, when the feedings were 'round the clock, wondering how quickly November 17 would come, how quickly she would change and grow because even then in the midst of the exhausting newborn days I knew it was but a wisp of time. As all mothers know, my heart rejoices in healthy growth and the fun of discovering more about her, but it aches knowing this leads to independence . . . . more and more away from mom. (Sniff. Boo hoo. Wawawawah.)

We celebrated Louisa's first birthday in a feast-ly fashion. Because Bryan worked Thanksgiving, we combined the two festivities into a Thankful for Louisa party. Thirty family and friends squeezed into our house to dine on turkey, ham, and fixin's (mostly prepared by my husband; be jealous) and to love on our little lady. We thought she'd be a little timid or overwhelmed because strangers and crowds are not her thing, but Louisa did so well! I mean she totally knew it was her party, right? 

When it was time for the ceremonial first birthday cupcake, Louisa was such a delicate gal. (Shout out to big sis helping blow out the candle.) I had to help her at first with a nibble of icing -- and it was a hit. Instead of making a mess, she very gently grabbed a bite between her thumb and index finger until she ate the entire cupcake.

Big sister also helped with the presents. Louisa's favorites ended up being a shape sorting lunchbox, a ride-on choo-choo train, and singing bear night light toy. 

Growth

At Lou's 12-month appointment, she weighed 19 pounds and 4 ounces. Y'all that means she is in the 40th percentile! We've gone from not even on the charts to the 40th! Someone please celebrate! She's hitting those milestones like a champ (even a little early, but who's bragging?). She's walking -- the side step sometimes, which is really funny. 

She says dada all the time. She says nana when she's mad at Anna. She says mama when she's really desperate. I see where I stand.

Louisa loves black beans. Loves. She's also a fan of green beans, carrots, and meat. Any meat. All day. Just meat, please. At such a young age, she is clearly more of an opinionated eater than Anna. I can only imagine what the full-on toddler years will be like.

Speaking of eating, Louisa refuses avocados and sweet potatoes, but she enjoys nibbling on a bar of avocado SOAP . . . and sneaking tastes of sister's CeraVe lotion. Things I never thought I'd say: Louisa, do not eat the toiletries.

Her other trouble spots include a constant fascination with electrical outlets, cords, and the carbon monoxide monitor in the kitchen. Perhaps she will be an electrical engineer.

Her interests are really starting to show. She continues to favor cars, balls, toys that make music, and Elmo. She also enjoys pulling out tissues from the Kleenex box, pilfering through my purse, taking lids on and off and on and off and on and off, playing the piano (now tall enough to reach the keys), and "kitchen" (a box of plastic lids who no longer have a container mate along with a small kitchen set equals tons of fun).

Louisa also pursued her modeling career as I continue to paste my kids' pictures on the Fort Worth Moms Blog. You can see her 7-month self on this post I wrote, "Infant Photography Made Easy." For a complete look at her oh-so-adorable professional pics to document her six months of life that actually ended up being her seven month photos because she is the second child and nothing happens on time, simply click here.

This Time Last Year

It all started last August. The self-appointed deadline of ending our wait to adopt came near. Yet, we had no second child to welcome home. In a rare move, I detracted my previous commitment to this deadline thanks to a sense of desperation I never ever wish to feel again. Graciously, my kind husband agreed. In retrospect, I have a sneaky suspicion these desperate feelings were an unexplainable maternal, Divine intervention. You see, my second baby was on her way.

October came and went with an updated home study and the comfort of "doing something," but the weight of waiting never left. November I wore the waiting like a heavy coat.

Then, on November 14, we learned about a baby girl yet to be born. We chose to show our profile book to the birthmother that next Monday.

Monday came and went and no news from the adoption agency.

Tuesday came and nearly went. I sent an email only to receive the reply: "There isn't any updates to send along to you at this time."

I was totally suspicious and over-analytical of every word, the order of the sentence, and so forth. How much longer until there was a concrete update?

On Wednesday, while waiting in the drive-thru line at Chick-fil-A, I get the call: Not only did the birthmother choose us, but the baby was also born that Monday, November 17. This was why we weren't informed. A lot had been developing faster than expected!

But there was a catch or two, and the adoption agency wasn't comfortable placing with us until the week after Thanksgiving.

So I lived with the possibility, a likelihood of a baby girl. Maybe mine. Maybe not mine. Willing December to make its appearance as quickly as possible. That is also a heaviness.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, we met the birthmother -- a delightful, smart, loving young women. The meeting went so well, and we felt hope.

So this time last year, I was in the middle of a muddle: I went from not knowing if a second child was in the cards for us to waiting for a response to cautiously rejoicing for a girl all to wait for several more days not knowing so much until finally . . . .

On this day last year, I met her -- my baby daughter, Louisa Bryn Caroline. I loved her at first sight. My waiting was over; my heart burst with joy and thankfulness -- two sentiments I continue to embrace one year later. A family of three became four.

So if you are waiting for something or someone, don't despair. Who knows what will be this time next year.

Happy family day, my loves!

Our first photo as the Youree Four!

Another Medical Test for Louisa

You may remember Louisa had a MRI earlier this year. Since then, we've visited neurosurgeons, urologist, a genetics specialist . . . had ultrasounds and other tests all to determine whether or not this little lady has a tethered spinal cord. While one radiologist believes her images are normal, her neurosurgeon and a second radiologist felt something is abnormal.

So, here we are in December. Louisa has reached the 1-year mark, and the doctors are hoping her anatomy has grown enough to undergo the next procedure -- which will hopefully be the ONE that gives some direction to the doctors.

On Thursday, December 3, Lou will have light sedation to complete this test. Prayers for a smooth-sailing procedure and for her to recover from it all well. My mama's heart is also fretting because her appointment will not be until 1:00 p.m., meaning she will go without any solid food from 7:00 a.m. and her last clear liquids at 9:00. Prayers for an understanding heart and tummy!