Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Adoption Anniversary

Am I waxing eloquent . . . and reminiscent on this blog or what? Today is ANOTHER important Youree day, folks. It's the anniversary of the adoption finalization. Way back when I blogged about this great day (complete with pictures); it still sends shivers down my spine as I remember the excitement and emotion of those few minutes standing before the judge. Oh, I thought I loved her then, but that love grows bigger every day.

We celebrated with a family outing on Saturday; the Youree Three cheered the Rangers on to victory.



And then this evening, we ate dinner at a restaurant, where the wee one gorged on her favorite delicatessen: Cheetos.

She also wanted me to take a picture with her soda. These treats are BIG deals at our house.

For adoption day, we give Anna one gift. This year a Doc McStuffins doll with a full head of hair was the winner. Anna is currently obsessed with styling her dolls' hair. I mean obsessed. In true-to-Anna fashion, Doc was quickly stripped of her clothes and the braids taken out of her hair upon leaving the safe confines of the packaging. She has not stopped playing with her (except at the restaurant . . . only because I wouldn't allow her to take it in. Doc waited patiently in the car seat until we returned).


Anna Zane, you're with us. We are family forever! We love you!

Monday, September 22, 2014

Home Study: Third Time's the Charm?

Roughly one year ago, we sat in my living room with a new case worker. This family of three started the steps to become more--a family of four. But here we are . . . still a family of three. (A happy family of three, by the way.) It's the cliche tried and true phrase, but "if you'd told me a year ago . . . I wouldn't have believed you."

I'm weary of waiting as I've written before.

But I'm confident that waiting is what we need to do . . . waiting for whatever God has "next" for us. So, today, in efforts to keep waiting, we renewed our home study. Our case worker came again to look at the house, ask us questions, "interview" Anna. (Hysterical really. Little Miss is recovering from a head cold/virus, and, for whatever reason, when she is ill, she is delusional and hyper. JUST the kind of behavior I was hoping for in front of the case worker. Just.)

We experienced one home study with Anna, and two this go around, making this (all you math wizards), our third rodeo. Home studies are likely the most never-wracking thing for adoptive parents because you place all this unreal pressure on yourself. I soooo didn't do that this time because I know the drill. It's not intrusive; it's not uncomfortable. I tried really hard to just show normal life at the Yourees. We didn't even put up the laundry drying in my room. Teehee.

We're thus waiting for the home study to be approved, which should be before October 1st. And then we will wait some more . . . but hopefully not that much. :-)

Friday, September 5, 2014

Five Years After the Farewell

Friends sometimes ask me what it feels like for your father to die. And more specifically, what it feels like for both your parents to die while you are still (relatively) young. Certainly, I was not the only 28-year-old to lose a father, nor was I the only 31-year-old to bury her mother. But I am a minority in this category.

So.

Five years ago today, around 6:20 in the evening, my dad's body finally felt the full effects of the cancer in his brain. He died. I immediately thought how weird this all felt and seemed. Grieving, in my best descriptive term, was . . . weird. It's difficult to define, much like parenthood. No one can explain or prepare you for it; it's unique. The same is true with burying your parents.

In the days and weeks and months after September 5, I wondered how this would all feel in time. And now five years of grieving have come and gone. What's different? What's the same?

I sobbed a lot at first. I still sob.

I thought about him daily. I still do.

I wanted him to know things about me; things like what I'm growing in my garden, publishing successes, and the joy of Anna Zane. Yep, still wish for that--and more. I'd like him to know we remodeled our house, we hope to adopt again, and that I attended the NCAA Final Four AND championship game to watch Kentucky play. Y'all, if he knew, he would've (normally, I'd say "die," but I just don't think it's appropriate here) lost his mind. He loved college sports. So do I.

I yearned for our relationship to be mended. Still a desire of my heart I pray is realized in some way one day.

Grief is uncontrollable. You cannot control it. You can't force it, fast-forward it, or finish it. Grief is not only body-shaking sobs--really rarely this--but a regular mourning of all the little everyday-facets of that person. Putting mayo in my cart at Target and out of nowhere remembering that my Dad was picky about the brand of mayo. And I grieve right there that one endearing fact about him. I'll never laugh or poke fun at him for the mayo snobbery again. I'll never eat my grandmother's chocolate pie again. I'll never watch my mother use her pink brush to comb her hair. I'll never hear Mamaw White say, "Bless its little heart" again. This hurts me. It's not only the absence of the person, but what that absence means.

And I mean for this post to be encouraging. :-)

Because of this: At first, I just wanted this whole grief episode to be o-v-e-r. But I've realized that love for that person--along with the what ifs, wishes, and best ideas--doesn't die with the person. I will be grieving my parents until I'm the one in the casket. However, I've learned that grief becomes part of your life. You cope with it. It alters your perspective a tad--for the better, I think.

I now know another aspect of the pain depravity caused. I know the long-lasting sting of separation. It reminds me of my neediness and frailty. It reminds me only the hope of a Savior can sustain. It reminds me that not all is lost. And that, friends, I can live with.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Anna-isms #8

Perhaps, you've read these jewels on Facebook:

While giving Anna a bath, I tell her, "You know what? I think you are beautiful," hoping for a sweet mother/daughter moment.

She looks intently at me and says, "Well, you look tired."

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Getting Anna dressed one morning, I called her "my baby girl." This immediately offends her as it would any 3.5-year-old girl. She is NOT a baby. I reply, "I know. I know. You're my big girl."

She gasps, "I can have a cough drop now?"

(There are cough drops in my bathroom drawer, which she often looks at and dreams about ingesting. She's been told she cannot have cough drops until she is sick and much bigger. Apparently, she thought THAT day had arrived.)

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We've enjoyed a mild summer for the most part . . . until August hit. It's been too hot to do anything. In other parts of the country, people go stir crazy in the winter because they can't go outside; they feel stuck at home. Not so in Texas, my friend. We go stir crazy in the hot summer because it's too hot get out . . . like even to walk to the car. LOL. In the winter, the temps are bearable.

So in efforts to release some of Anna's energy, I send her and the nanny to the mall one morning while I worked. A few bucks can get ya ride on the carousel, a trip around the mall in the train, and some fun time in the play place. And there's a fountain to toss coins. You get the idea. Cool, cheap fun.

Because Anna's been reaaaaallllyyy struggling with overheating (think vomit), I asked the nanny to but Anna a soda before they left. A cold drink with ice to help keep her temp lower while riding in the car waiting for it to cool. I may or may not have told her to get Anna a "coke," which every Southern woman knows means a soda not necessarily a Coca-cola.

They get to the Chick-fil-a counter. The nanny asks Anna what she wants to drink. Anna says tea. The nanny says we have tea at home and to pick something else. She lists off the soda options. Anna picks a coke. She takes one drink of it--and with glee-- informs Ms. Kristi that her mom doesn't let her have caffeine. And then she takes another drink.

Um, Anna isn't allowed to drink caffeine. She only drinks Sprite/7-up/Ginger Ale for special treats. Ahem.

They arrive home with the coke; I hear the story. I chuckle because Anna thinks she has really pulled a fast one over on the nanny. The nanny laughs in this all-too-familiar grandmotherly tone . . . the oh-that's-okay-boy-did-we-have-fun-what-mama-doesn't-know-hee-hee.

After another sip, Anna looks directly into my eyes with great seriousness and say, "Don't tell Dad."

*******

Speaking of Ms. Kristi . . . .

I've been talking with Anna about boundaries and being kind . . . and telling me if anyone is ever mean to her, hurts her, ask her to do something wrong. That type of thing. I ask, "Has anyone ever been mean to you?"

"Yes."

"Who. Tell Mama."

"Ms. Kristi."

"What did Ms. Kristi do to you?"

"She put me in time out when I wasn't listening."

Face palm.

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Gymnastics was a big hit this summer. She learned to do a forward roll, walk on the balance beam, and jump and hop like a crazy lady. And she even learned the first steps to the cartwheel:

Oh yes, this little gal is VERY proud. She will do it over and over, asking me, "Mom, you want to see the biggest one? The biggest in the whole world?" And then we field a lot of, "Watch me. Are you watching? Look at me."

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Today Anna rocked the first day of school in the "big kids" class. She didn't miss a beat. Ran up the sidewalk excited. Went straight in the class, no tears and no fuss. And she even almost forgot to kiss her mother goodbye. (Gasp.)

In the 3-year-old class, there are two teachers and 16 kids. So this is a big adjustment just in size. Also, they have cubbies outside the classroom where the kids are responsible for hanging their backpacks and lunch boxes. And the BIG kicker (for mama) is that parents drop off the kiddos at the classroom door. SO BIG.

Here's the obligatory first-day photos: