Thanksgiving Tears and Torches

I stood at the counter and wiped a few stray tears from my cheeks as Yoan entered the kitchen to put a dish away. He looked at me gravely for a moment.  "Mom, have you been crying?"

"Yes. Yes I have."

"Oh. " Yoan shrugged and continued with his chore.

"Are you going to ask me why I'm crying?"

Yoan's eyes flew to my face briefly then back to the floor. He shrugged as only an eight year old can. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." With near tactical evasion skills, he tried to slink his way out of the kitchen.

"No. Really. Ask me why I was crying. "

" Um....... Why were you crying? "

I held out a bag of freshly chopped onions. He knew his job. Obligingly, he came forward and sniffed." Agh! " As if a skunk had sprayed him in face, he reeled away clutching his nose and whimpering.

This Thanksgiving has not been for the faint of heart disease. Inspiration struck David a few weeks ago and we pulled together a full six course meal including baked cheeses,  butternut soup, 3 kinds of bread, 4 different pies, Mac n cheese and the necessary food coma to follow. We even had a great looking recipe for smoked turkey.

Thanksgiving eve. The turkey has brined for a full 12 hours and is now in the grill being smoked. Scents of pie and smoke mingle in the kitchen. I'm doing up the last of the evening's dishes when David pops in and says, "You need to see this". I don't know about other husbands, but those words coming from my husband are never good. The last time he said that to me, I stepped out of my van to find that a certain little imp had packed our gas tank opening with tiny sticks and then replaced the cap. And it was labor day. And my car was dangerously close to the "you're about to have to push me home" stage.

I took a breath and followed David outside to find my grill spouting flames. Not just smoke. Serious flames. My carefully prepared turkey was a Thanksgiving torch. Crisp black skin on the outside gave way to chilly rawness on the inside. No good. We weighed our options and headed for Walmart  at ten-thirty on the night before Thanksgiving.  We scrounged the nearly empty chicken aisle and came up with enough chicken breasts for the adults. And chicken nuggets for the kids.  When I broke the sad news to the kids this morning that the turkey had been cremated and they'd have to eat nuggets, they did a happy jig. "I love chicken nuggets!" Tony announced. Ah, well. Not a complete fail then.

Through the stench of onions and charred turkey, we actually had a great Thanksgiving. Family gathered and ate themselves sick. We're visiting and enjoying each others company. We've laughed and reminisced.  I hope my other friends out there get to do the same! Happy Thanksgiving to you all as well!

When the well runs dry

I put an apron on this morning in the vain hope that I might make it through the day in one outfit. Yoan looked at my outfit dubiously this morning. "You look like a cooker in that. But you still look like a mom!" So, while hoping for something akin to Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart, I pulled off a solid Ma Kettle. That's OK. Our breakfast table looked a lot more like Ma's anyway.

We've been in our new home three weeks already! Time shoots past like an angry bird game on steroids. I had another post about the diverse joys of moving but it wasn't fit for public display. I shall fast forward to more present issues instead. Most specifically our most recent poop story. Since everyone loves those so much. Last Friday, we ran out of water. Yep. Two weeks into life in paradise and the well runs dry. But maybe I should set up the scene first......

The three Littles were sleeping soundly, so I left Danae in charge and went to pick up boys from school. Since it was Friday, I had plans to pick up my friend Cortney and her kids for a pizza making party. We got home 5 minutes later than usual to find all three littld hoodlums up and running around the front yard while Danae talked to the therapist who'd arrived early.

"I don't know where my Mom is. She's been gone a long time "

I picked my heart up out of my lap and swallowed it back down before getting out and trying to explain to the therapist that this is not a normal occurrence. Necessary conversations with Danae were had. I flustered my way into the kitchen to finish preparations.  I turned on the faucet to work on dishes. After a spit and sputter, it settled down to a steady drip. My previously swallowed heart sunk to the bottom of my belly and began to flop nervously. No good. We were out of water. It took another day to get it back.

Do you know what happens to ten kids when they discover you have no water? Yep. They immediately develop raging thirst and detox style colon cleanses. We went through 2 flats of water and it took me the better part of the next week to get the house to stop smelling like Nicaragua. Those of you who've been there know what I mean.

Since we had most of the stuff ready for pizzas, we made them anyway. We ate and the kids played. I was reminded how thankful I am for running water.

Moving

In an amazing order of events including one of my favorite untold poop stories, we have found the perfect house for our rowdy crew. Tomorrow we will close and begin moving our bunch into a barn. Yep.  Living our truth. My kids can finally tell people yes, they were raised in a barn. The truth is that I'm as wildly excited about God's provision here as the kids are. We can't wait to explore everything and make this place our own. We're celebrating the imminent move by succumbing one by one to fevers, congestion and stomach ache. I personally opted for the full package including the extra burning ulcer and caffeine restriction. Just for fun.

Thankfully, we don't have to be out of our house tomorrow.  If it takes a bit longer it'll be OK. After several years of fighting clutter, my closets seem to have joined the battle of the bulge. The more I pack away or just plain get rid of, the more seems to be waiting for me. Children's clothing breeds in the dark recess of the closet  or possibly the laundry hamper.  It produces litters of clothing just off a useful size or season. It all must be dealt with. Cabinets I thought were previously clutter free sprout old bottle pieces or random empty jars. It begs the question, is it ever possible to truly be packed and ready to move out? And of course, what goes out must go back in. The fun will continue.

Last night I spent my time rocking sick babies until the wee hours when I begged David to take over and give me a bit of rest (he did, by the way and even made breakfast). Tonight I can hear coughing starting up again. Rooms that should be packed and done are still waiting. But that's OK. We're not racing anyone.

Last week, David and I had a charming date at a Chinese restaurant. While waiting at the Walmart pharmacy for the billionth time this week, I found a long lost fortune cookie hiding in the recesses of my anti-Mary Poppins purse.  You know.  Hers was feather light and housed everything known to man.  Mine is a ton of bricks and I still can't find my keys! Anyway, the fortune cookie said "an extra hour is worth more than an ounce of gold".  Seriously. I'm not kidding. That's what it said. All I can say is if someone had paid me for all the hours this last week I've spent at a clinic or waiting on medications I'd be a rich woman. This moving story is definitely full of rich twists and turns and will never be forgotten!

It's Complicated

This morning, I took a break from never ending chores.  I drank the better part of a pot of coffee and walked around the yard watching my little boys play.  I like to do this on Wednesday mornings because my big ones are off at piano lessons and my attention doesn’t have to be divided.  I haven’t written much lately and it’s definitely not from lack of poo.  I’ve even had a couple of people kindly share their own poo stories with me.  I’m ever so grateful.  It’s so much fun to get to laugh at you.....I mean, with you.

Potty training is going remarkably well.  Tony is dedicated to keeping his undies dry these days.  He’s not quite so dedicated to actually making it to the potty.  I think I’ve finally convinced him that it’s unacceptable to pee on the porch right in front of the door.  Or on the porch stairs.  He recently experimented with peeing down the slide.  At church.  The one that his brother was currently sliding down.  But his undies are dry.

He’s had a little difficulty understanding why he has to put his pants back on as well.  When we went to the park the other day, I went to push Chuy on the swing for a bit.  When I wandered back to check on him, he was having a grand time climbing the playset. Naked from the waist down.  But when I found his undies and shorts, they were dry.  I’m choosing to count my blessings here and remember these stories to regale his future wife with.  

Devin’s vocabulary seems to be growing by the day.  I’m hoping it’s the result of hours of reading.  I’ve memorized the majority of Cat in the Hat, Go Dog Go, Foot Book, Put Me In The Zoo and numerous others.  The other morning, Devin searched for a lost book without success.  Finally, he went to David to explain what he was doing.  “I looked and can’t find my book!” He announced.  “Then it got complicated!” he finished.  Complicated?  Really?  Yes, it’s been a favorite explanation lately.  Like when he took a toy from Chuy.  Or when he pooped his pants in town.  You didn’t think I could write without having some sort of poop incident did you?  Yep.  Everything these days is “complicated”.

Speaking of which, I had a story that was begun a few weeks ago and as yet unpublished.  In the interest of letting you laugh at my expense, I thought I’d still share it.....

I don't go to the bathroom by myself. I'm usually followed by the two or three youngest who really feel the importance of cheering me on, handing me toilet paper and flushing the toilet before I have a chance to stand up. The oldest two are much more content to stand outside the bathroom door, peppering me with critically imperative questions like, "when I get done with my chores and math, what can I do?"  "when Dad gets home, what are we going to do?" and one of my favorites, "do we get ice cream tonight if we eat our supper?

In case you're wondering, the answers to these are usually," laundry", "laundry"  and "if I get interrupted one more time, you can have laundry for dessert!" You'd think I'd get more laundry done than I really do.

Today I found myself blissfully alone in the bathroom. I'd love to have taken time to enjoy the peace and quiet. But any mother knows how it goes. When the cat's away, the mice will burn the house down while trying to get to the candy. I hurried out to find Tony and Chuy had decorated several pictures for me. Some on paper. Mostly on the kitchen floor and refrigerator. In sharpie. I'll be sure to invite them along for my next bathroom trip.  

We're so excited to see Chuy taking an interest in potty training. He may be our easiest yet! He's already got the hang of going pee pee in the potty. He's tried to make it for poops a couple of times. Problem is, he feels like he must sit as far back on the potty as possible.  This results in a deposit down the back of the potty. Baby steps.

We had another fascinating experience today. The above was written yesterday. We can't have all our fun in one day. I was folding laundry in the living room, Tony and Devin squabbling quietly the my feet. Drew emerged from the bathroom to inform me that his toilet was overflowing. "Danae said it was stopped up.  I had to poop.  So I flushed it again and now it's not going down."  

I dashed to the bathroom to indeed find poopy toilet water overflowing onto the floor. I jiggled the handle to get the water to stop and dashed to my bedroom for boots. Yeah. I was NOT stepping in that.  Working with the plunger only resulted in more water sloshing over the side. Ug! I went for the toilet snake.

Just as I got the snake situated,  and by that I mean threaded about a quarter of the way into the toilet to be jiggled and cursed at until it accomplishes unclogging the drain, Tony began to wail in earnest about something Devin was doing. His piercing shriek grew in intensity until I had to abandon the bathroom to..... discipline the offenders. About that time, Chuy disappeared into Drew's room to mess with forbidden toys. One more spanking and I had over half my brood crying. Time to head back to the sewage in the bathroom.  I managed to clear the clog and put the snake in the bathtub to be washed.

Since everyone has to poop at the same time (is that the disadvantage of everyone eating together?), Chuy decided to take that opportunity to take care of business.  “Gucky, Momma!” He began to call.  But the bathtub I normally shower him in was currently housing the plunger and snake.  We made do with wipes and promises of a bath later.  

The upside was that the entire bathroom got bleached.  Curtains got taken down and washed.  Even the hallway got steam cleaned.  I have to say, I’m not sure I really expected this kind of excitement when I thought of having children.  Though, in sharing my stories, I’ve heard from several other moms that their life is covered in its fair share of poo too.  It’s just part of having kids.  And honestly, if we can find the humor in it, life becomes a little less complicated.  

Progress

I'm almost afraid to admit it, but we may have turned a corner with Tony. He's pooped in the potty four times now and I'm happy dancing all over the place. I've been having visions of handing him over to his bride someday with a package of adult diapers and baby wipes. Practicality says it wouldn't get that far, but when you're knee deep in the poop trenches it's hard to find the light at the end of the sewer drain. Is it possible that in another 18 months - 3 years I could see the end of the pampers budget? Seriously, I think I could have made a decent down payment on a house for what we've spent on diapers over the years. But what could I possibly have to write about if I'm not getting pooped on every other day? Maybe the visit I had with my sister where we decided it would be great if we could just tattoo socks on all our kids and save ourselves the eternal sock hunt. Or how, when I went to spank Chuy for playing during nap time today, he leapt into his bed, turned his face to the wall and began to pretend snore. Or maybe how we're finally in the end stages of getting paperwork finalized so that a couple of the boys' brothers can live with us permanently. OK. Maybe my life will not be boring  after all.

Truth be told, I can't hardly imagine life without my crew of pirates/super heroes/glazed doughnut monsters (that glaze on their face might look sweet and sugary, but I wouldn't kiss it if I were you) /puppies/wild animals/astronauts. Drew and Y made themselves jet packs this weekend out of discarded boxes, paper and cupcake liners. Genius. It kept them busy for hours! Anything they want to imagine can be acted out with a full compliment of characters. And their imagination only seems to grow as the family grows. Granted, their imagination often includes a full range of disgusting bodily noises, imaginary barf and snot. It's a boy thing.

This weekend, we will not only have our two soon-to-be Baucoms, but we'll also have another brother of theirs for a day and two of the boys friends for a couple days. A friend told me I'm crazy. I know she's right. At times we will have nine boys. All  ten and under. I'm already preparing food for the black hole that will be the dining room table. But I'm so excited about it! I'm sure there will be a post coming about the experience. Good, bad and insane.

Outing

Under most circumstances, I'd rather try to bathe twelve cats in the dark than take my kids on errands. The result is the same. You end up wrestling with a small irrational creature, frustrated, tired, and convinced that one of them has pooped while you weren't watching. Caterwalling and tears ensue. Except that when it's taking kids on errands, all of that is happening on aisle 5 at Walmart.
Today was an exception. We wanted to take the kids to see Frozen (by far the best movie put out by Disney in a long time). If we were going to be in town, we needed groceries. The other thing about having a large family and driving a municipal stadium everywhere is that you really avoid making too many trips to town. I  think my gas bill could feed a small family for a month.  We took a large breath and rolled the whole raucous herd into the bus. I have to stop here and admit that I love the life and excitement these kids bring to every activity. Doing stuff with them just makes me happy. But I digress.......
Sam's was our first stop. Usually, I'm there during the week or on Sunday afternoon. Nothing during those times prepared me for the sheer crush of people milling about the parking lot and store. I include the parking lot because people seemed to mosy through it as if they were window shopping for their next vehicle. No worries about people actually trying to make their way to an empty spot in the outer boondocks. 
David and I decided to divide and conquer in order to be able to get our stuff and get out in slightly less time than it took the Israelites to cross the desert. It worked well! The kids took joy in helping to heap our carts with all the stuff they like to scarf down during the week. They pointed out 500 other "yummy" looking foods (gum, trail mix, crackers, cookies, cheesecake...) that they really needed. With all the sympathy of someone who has to cough up the dough to feed these creatures with black holes for stomachs, I refused. Most of it. Some of it. OK. I bought the fishy crackers. And cheese sticks. And bacon. I'm sure I would have gotten all that anyway.
David took most of the kids to the bus while I checked out. As I watched them gather round him like little electrons around the big daddy nucleus, I couldn't hide my smile. We're a big family when you look at it from the outside. And lots of people were looking.
After Sams, we ate a snack in the picnic area of another local grocery while David ran in for coffee. My kids were everywhere. Crawling through hoops set up as a bike rack. Jumping from rock to rock. Playing follow the leader. Without a 'real'  play set, they had a ball just being with each other. And eating fishy crackers and cheese. See. I knew it would be handy.
The movie theater was surprisingly packed for a movie that has been out this long. We found good seats. The three big kids in  front of us and the rest scattered on and around us. Watching them laugh and engage in the story was as much fun as the movie itself.
Next stop. Food. Yes. More food. We dropped a small fortune at McDonald's for the sole  purpose of letting the hoodlums run and play after nearly two hours of sitting still. I was so proud of my kids. We filled two tables. They played and responded well to orders and discipline. We gathered them to go and I began to mentally pat myself on the back for the order we were managing to keep. Then Devin went and lit off the emergency alarm on our way out the door. Yeah. That's my  kid. So sorry. We were just leaving. Enjoy the ear piercing siren.
By this time it was 7:30. We're usually starting to work kids toward bed. And we still had to do Walmart. Divide and conquer once again saved us both time and frustration. I couldn't help but marvel at the fun we would have missed out on if we hadn't attempted what might have seemed crazy. The kids reveled in the experience of just being out with us. They were distracting and funny and helpful and worth having along.
We got home with tired kids and tired adults. But we were all happy.

Gilligan and the Internet

I wonder what would happen if life ever got boring around here. If there were an equal and opposite reaction to boring at my house, it might have to be a rainforest complete with howler monkeys and singing bears (you know... Like Jungle Book) being found in Antarctica.
Somehow everything happens here at once. We came home from Christmas vacation sick. Very sick. Our kids, on the other hand, felt great. When we began to feel better, David twisted his knee badly. Two different doctors later and we will soon get to pay a small fortune to have it fixed. As a final treat, our internet went down.
When we have no Internet, we also have no cell signal. And no phone. Entirely disconnected from the outside world, I found myself wandering around the house holding my cell phone up, seeking signal like the crew of Gilligan's Island sought radio waves. Please God, let someone be out there.
Fast forward to tonight. With David out of commission in the crawling department, I volunteered to be his hands under the house to fix our phone line. Two days with little to no outside connections had made me desperate. After all, it's only dark, creepy and 20 degrees outside. What could go wrong?
For starters, someone left the water hose on and part of under the house was soggy. I crawled in and found the wire. Slowly, I followed it down the house to where it ended, trying to avoid the worst of the mud. Spider webs dangled in my face and the cat, who had staked claim on a warm spot down there, began to howl his warning at my intrusion. The wire was not plugged in to anything. I  picked up the frayed end and wondered if we'd been getting internet by magic.  Apparently, it had been daisy chained into another wire and had come loose. No magic.  Just a great cat fight under the house had dislodged it. Great.
I should mention here that my electronic experience amounts to nil. This wire needed to be spliced into another one. David talked me through it. Red to red, green to green. Tape them together. Due to my new found electrical genius the phone line ever was, of course, still broken.
During this stage, there were times I had to just sit and wait for David to go check something or get a tool. I'm not proud to admit it, but generous amounts of extra fiber to my diet had resulted in equal amounts of intolerable flatulence. In the confines of the under house space, I had no one to blame my misery on but myself. As my eyes began to water and I considered escaping to the less polluted outdoors. But I needed my internet.
Plan B. We ran another line. Which involved trying to get it up through the floorboard and then running it down the length of the house. By this time, I'd crawled the length of the house about three times. My toes had begun to hurt. I considered the lengths to which I would go in order to have internet back. In the end, I decided that I had double benefits. Not only did I renew my connection with the outside world, but I also had an embarrassing and disgusting story to share with my readers.
As I finished my part in the ordeal and headed out, my calves decided they'd had enough too and cramped up. If anyone ever tells you that crawling isn't exercise, slap them for me. I hobbled my way up the stairs and into a hot shower. My amazing husband made coffee and we celebrated by staying up too late watching Netflix. This is definitely the good life.

Christmas Vacation

We're home and recovering from Christmas.  No trip is really complete until a few people have gotten sick and have to spend days laying around watching TV. The trip as a whole was so full of blogable material that it's hard to know where to begin.....

We loaded enough electronic devices to power a Dallas suburb into our van.  I'm not sure exactly how I managed to make it through family trips as a kid without a tablet, a gaming system and a phone, but the concept is terrifying to my children. Or maybe it's just that my parents had more tolerance for hearing,  "are we there yet?" "I'm hungry", "I need to go potty", "I pooped", "tell him to stop touching me!".  My mother scoffed when we first bought a car with a built in dvd player.  She regaled us with stories of how they read and sang across country.  I noticed that her van now sports three TV screens and a movie for the trip across town.  No matter.  The kids loved it and all wanted to pile in with Nana.

My amazing husband bought me a new phone before we left.  It's fancy and I love it.  Which means I'm super panicked about dropping or losing it. Which also means I do both more often.

Our first night in Arkansas, we gathered at my sister's house. 14 children, 7 adults.  We were horribly outnumbered. The kids spent time marking out territory and testing boundaries. Yes.  That toy is hers.  No you may not pee outside.  We're in town.  Oh, yeah.  It's dark.  Go ahead.  Yes.  You need to eat your nachos. At least half of it.  Fine.  One bite. Just go play with your cousins. You can fill up on cookies later.  And play they did.  14 children have an astounding scope of imagination. Later, they put on a nativity vignette with Christmas caroling. It included one of our adoptive hopefuls who owned his part by baaaing out his lines and crawling around on all fours for a good part of the rest of the night. 

David's sister, Rachel came with us. She slept on the couch in the living room of the house that was graciously loaned to us. As it turns out, my children far preferred to wake her for their travel insomnia than knock on my door.  Score! Everyone should take a teenager on family vacations. She got to deal with nose bleeds, sleep walking, thirsty kids, sniffles, and that one child who  believes travel is an excellent excuse to start getting up at 4am. I got to catch a cold and spend my time trying to keep my entire brain from leaking out my nose.

We took the kids to a nature museum on Friday.  They ran and played, enjoying the snakes and displays and a fishing game. We took a picnic lunch outside. The boys ducked around the trees and fed bits of their lunch to the geese in the pond. Then Devin waddled out from behind a tree. Yep. It was poop. The upside of it was that it put us in just the right place, once I'd cleaned him up, to watch volunteers feed a mouse to the rattlesnake. Later, I heard that Y and Drew had been hoping the mouse might escape. It was cuter than the snake, and therefore the snake was evil.

Later, in a move I blame entirely on cold meds, I found myself  leaning against a red Firebird that was parked next to my bus in the McDonald's parking lot. Yes. We took the kids to Mc D's. In freezing temperatures, my little cavemen needed to wreck havoc in somewhere built for it. I needed ice cream mixed with m&ms. Everyone wins. I leaned on the driver's side door while chatting with my parents for about 10 minutes only to find out the teenager in the driver's seat was apparently texting about the whole experience. I apologized profusely to the girl who simply rolled her eyes and turned back to her phone.   Defeated, I crawled into the bus for a quick getaway. After spending ten minutes polishing her window with my backside, she could at least have tossed me a quarter. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked back to find her pantomimng the story to a load of her friends who'd pulled up beside her.  They laughed riotously at my expense.  Smiling, I waved heartily as we passed by.   Yes.  It was me!  I sat on your car.   The crazy lady with a bus full of kids and her brain stuffed into a dozen kleenexes in her pocket.

By the way, they lady who took this picture really had an eye for.....placement. First picture in a long time of 'us girls' and I have a deer hat. I love family photos.

Transportation

No matter how often we do it, I'm always amazed at how much work it takes to  transport children anywhere. And before you ask,  I'll explain. To travel is the act to going from one place to another. It's what we did before we had kids. Throw a couple things in the car and go.   Transporting, on the other hand, is a system or means of conveying people and/or goods from place to place by means of a vehicle, aircraft, or ship.  Yes. I got the definitions from a dictionary.
By the time we have packed 36 pairs of socks, 16 sets of pajamas, 27 pairs of shoes, 25 pairs of pants, 45 shirts, an orchards worth of apples, a flat of water bottles, extra bedding, books, toys, our own coffee maker (yes, we're that dedicated to our morning caffeine fix), gifts and the assortment of miscellany that must go with us these days, we definitely fall within the category of transportation. No way about it, we're hauling goods.
I'm not sure what it is about preparing to travel that drives children and animals crazy. Days before suitcases even come out of hiding they begin climbing the walls in anticipation of the hours soon to be spent buckled down into their seats. The animals are just starting their empty house party early.  The children are determined to leave their mark before we go. Just in case the animals forget who's job it usually is to wreck havoc. Legos get spread hither and yon, creating a charming minefield for chores I'm trying to accomplish. Chuy has twice actually made it into the playdoh before getting caught and eaten several bites.  I'm sure we'll be dealing with multi-colored poop soon. Tony decided to help me pack by spreading the stacks of clothing I had on the couch around the living room floor.
I have lists to help me stay organized when I pack. I write down the things I need to remember. It would be more helpful if I actually remembered to reference the list as I pack.  We made it Arkansas with no socks or underwear for David, no copies of family pictures, and a couple of gifts left behind. It could be worse. We didn't leave any children behind. Yet. No one had a massive poop on the road. No one threw up.  Gosh! What an uneventful trip!
The blue bus transported our crew well. We took out a bench to make room for everything and the kitchen sink that we had packed. I consequently found myself wedged between Chuy and Devin 's carseats. Not a place created for large bums.  I let Rachel sit in front so that I could nap and manage the heathen. Yeah, right.  The trip actually went amazingly well. Bathroom stops were the most fun. There's nothing like watching someone's jaw drop as they count 7 kids coming out of a car.  Classic. 

We wish you a flu free Christmas!

In this season of family gatherings and gift giving, there's nothing that gives more than the flu. We travel hundreds of miles to share new germs with all our loved ones. Just to make sure they don't miss out on the fun.

I'm not sure if it's the flu or not, but I've got a second child down with fever. Drew started it and seems to be on the mend today, so maybe it will go quickly through and be done. Though that's not normally how we like to do things in a big family. Big families are all about experiencing life to the fullest. We're not content with getting an illness just once. We like to work through just one or two people at a time so that we can give it back to the first ones a few weeks later.  Flu. The gift that keeps on giving.

My general reaction to  anyone getting sick is to make chicken soup.  There’s nothing more soothing than a nice, warm chicken soup when you’re sick.  It doesn’t matter what ails you.  Chicken soup makes it better.  I’ll even eat it out of a can.  Or the little dry packets with noodles.  Or on a train, or in the rain.  With a fox and in my socks!.....Sorry.  Mommy moment there.  There’s only one problem with chicken soup.  I am the only one in my family who likes it.   Nevertheless, I made chicken soup today.  I cut up butternut squash, celery and onions and sauteed them with cubed chicken.  Chuy climbed up on a chair by the counter to, “help you” as he says.  Which means he ate three slices of butternut squash and one and a half sticks of chopped celery as I processed it.  I let him help me make breakfast the other day and he ate half a bell pepper before I could get it in the pan to cook.  He sure does love to help.   Maybe I do chop extra little pieces for him so that he can keep busy with eating instead of going all shogun with my knives.  It’s a good tradeoff.  

I still had the problem of my family not wanting what I cooked.  I can’t stand people not liking my food.  It’s not that I get offended.  I just want to make food that people want to eat.  So if there’s something they don’t like, I take is as a personal challenge to find a way to fix it so they will.  This time, I added curry seasoning and coconut milk.  Chicken curry soup.  Big hit!  Danae ate two bowls, and David mmmed and ahhhed and said it’s been too long since we’ve had curry.  Not only did it satisfy my deep seated need for chicken soup, but it cleared our sinuses as well!  Win, win! I’ll definitely be eating the leftovers for lunch.

I hope we make it through the end of the year without serious illness and that this is just a quick passing thing.  We’ve got family that we want to see and friends we want to party with. By the way, party means something entirely different once you’re married with children.  I may have to write a post on that someday.  

Dirty Jobs

For the weak of stomach, I'm going to warn you now. This post is just gross. In fact.....for the weak of stomach, my blog may not be for you. I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time up to my elbows in poop, pee and other amorphous disgustingness I will refer to as sludge. Dirty Jobs has nothing on me.
We used to call them the tornado twins. Then Chuy became mobile. Now we vascilate between the Tornado Trio and Huey, Duey, and Luey. I told David today that we could add one more and call them the four horsemen of the poopocolypse. Either way, they were at It again this week. No sooner had we arrived at the playground, then Devin pooped in his pants. Just a little,  and he was so very apologetic and thankful for help. I left the rest of the kids with Cortney while I went to clean him up. See what happens when you hang out with me? You get to be in the fun stories.
Cortney became suspicious of Tony and called him over to confess. "Are you poopy?"
"No," Tony lied as his stench felled several birds overhead and provided a natural buffer zone that kids instinctively skirted. Cortney decided to check for herself.  Which, in retrospect must be like checking the level of the swamp by wading into it. You might learn what you need to know, but in the end you'll be covered in.....sludge and wishing you had some boiling water handy.
Tony blew out all sides of his pull up.  No matter that I've spent a couple days trying to coax him into pooping in the potty. Warm baths. Promises of candyland raining down on his happy little head if he would just poop in the potty. Nope. He waited until all I had around me was a public restroom and a stack of criminally undersized baby wipes. Cortney met me at the bathroom door with Tony just as I was letting Devin out. 
Really, I think all public restooms ought to fit one stall with a hand held shower head and an industrial sized floor drain. It would decrease the amount of little girls who had to walk by our spectacle going, But mommy! He's naked!" Yeah. It was one of those poops. Stripped down to his birthday suit and cheerfully greeting all who came by to visit him in the bathroom.
"Hi! I Tony!  I pooped!" I did the best I could and turned him back out on the unsuspecting public.
The next couple hours passed tolerably well. We ran some errands, switching out who went in for their stuff so we could leave kids in the car. Best way to shop with kids ever. In the pre-Chistmas crush, its so easy for little ones to disappear in racks of clothing and spend years knocking about Narnia before you ever find them again.
The unfortunate thing about errands is that they always take longer than you think they will. By the time we were done, we were running late for our evening Bible study. Time to book it home. About halfway there, that ominous ding sounded, warning of an impending lack of gas. I glanced at the fuel gauge to see that it was on empty. Not near. On. My palms began to sweat. I dropped Cortney off and headed immediately to the gas station. No small surprise, but every single child needed to go potty when we got there.  We were 5 minutes late. Not bad. If I could swing by the house and get David, we'd be ok.
There's something you have to understand about the proximity of the gas station to my house. If I stand at the end of my driveway, I can see the gas station. It is close enough that Danae and Drew occasionally get to ride their bikes there for an afternoon treat. In the amount of time it takes to read this, you can walk there and back again. In the amount of time it took to drive it, Chuy had filled and exceeded his diaper so much it was oozing down his legs and all over his car seat. The stench wafting from him was singeing my nose hairs and making my eyes water. We had to stop and hose down the baby. Giving up all pretense of being on time, I got out and dealt with more poop.
If poop was all I dealt with this week I would have been grateful.  But it wasn't. This takes a great deal of humility to write, but I've been dealing with a roach problem lately. Not in the kitchen, mostly but every so often I find one elsewhere. Waiting for me in the shower. Hiding under a discarded sock. Crawling across my arm at 2am. Yeah. That one left me awake and paranoid for hours. Also, it's not the little house roaches. It's the great big texas-sized,  you-can-rope-and-ride-them kind. I've scrubbed and sprayed and been held back only by the wisdom of my husband from seriously poisoning the whole family in my attempts to be thoroughly rid of them. Then I discovered the feed box.
Just outside our door we have a large deck box to hold animal food, guinea pig shavings and assorted items that need to be kept out of the weather. A cow masquerading as a puppy I used to have chewed it up. It has apparently not been as weather tight as it's supposed to be.  The children haven't done a great job of keeping it cleaned out. While looking for something yesterday (I forget what, now in the horror of the details to follow) I discovered the mother of all roach nests. Right outside my front door. They had established their own government and were preparing for full scale invasion of foreign lands. In other words, my house.
I drafted Drew for the job. But he couldn't do it alone. Together we shoveled the most foul smelling muck and roach housing I have ever dealt with. I've sprayed and cleaned and showered. But I still feel dirty. Ugh. Maybe the experience will help him think to keep his feed area clean. I really hope it will sound the death toll for the nasty critters.

Big blue bus

The Chevy Express 15 passenger van is my dream car. I mean, who isn't attracted to those sleek lines and amazing maneuverability? Said no one ever. Nope. The reason you succumb to those 4 rows of cloth benches and manual seat adjusters is one thing. Kids. Lots of them.
We've always loved to travel. One reason for that is the ability to have less interrupted conversation. At home, conversations go something like this:
David,  over morning coffee, "Hey, honey. I was thinking we should -"
Random child, "Moooooom! Tony hit me!"
Me, "hold that thought." Spank Tony,  resolve a sharing issue, change a filthy diaper, feed hungry children, get David to put babies down for naps, then send him to run the errands that only a crazy person would take kids to do, move over a load of laundry, solve the world shattering crisis Danae is currently dealing with, tell Drew to take out the trash, notice he looks like he hasn't had a shower since his latest mudbath, send him to shower, fix snack for now awake babies, clean kitchen, make supper, feed the hordes, bathe babies, change another poopy diaper (what was the point of the bath?), jammies and bedtime.  "Ok, Dear. What was it you were saying?"
David, "I think we should take a road trip. "
In the car, we have a captive audience. Conversation flows a little more smoothly. David, "You know, I think we should adopt more kids."
Random wail from the backseat.
Me, "Turn the music up, honey, we can still hear them. Yes. We definitely need more kids. Look how many seats in this van are still empty!"
In truth, the kids think the van is the coolest thing ever. Its a roving social club.  They're making up awesome names for it and thinking of all the friends they can take places now.  I'm excited to be able to spread carseats out and not have to that tilt-buckle thing. It's daunting, though, for other people. "Do you have to have a CDL to drive that thing?" My hairdresser asked me.  For the record no. No you don't.  You may need an industrial sized thermos of extra strength coffee, the economy pack of dramamine and several professional opinions that you're not as crazy as you feel. But a regular licence is fine.
I ended up with a late night trip to walmart a few days ago. Something happened that I hadn't expected.   A thirty-something year old woman with short, sporty hair pushed her cart down the row ahead of me. She stopped to unload at the 15 passenger van that had parked caddy-corner to me. I caught her eye in passing and she noticed me stop at our van. Like two English speaking people in a foreign country, we had an instant connection. Yeah. I'm a van owner too. Welcome to the small group of crazy people with too many kids to drive a cute car.

Of Drewboy and Dreams

It's a rare occurrence in the winter. But the weather is decent and my children have all disappeared outside to play. After all, how can chores and school compete with the allure of dragons, castles, and maidens in distress? Since we only have one maiden in the family, I think Chuy is often substituted for another. Downside of being the youngest. So here I sit in the quiet for a minute, writing some thoughts.
We took Danae, Drew, and Rachel to see The Hobbit 2 a few nights ago. As images of spiders and dragons popped off the screen (3D is fun), I got the rare opportunity to hold my son's hand. It's not that he's unaffectionate or embarrassed of his mom. I'm just usually surrounded by little hands that need holding. Little demands. Little squabbles. My big boy lives in a world all his own. He is surrounded by super heroes, lego people, mario, transformers, puppy dogs, kitty cats and a myriad of other imaginary creatures who need him to save the world. He's a lot like I was as a kid. Except my playmates were fairies, princesses, evil step mothers, enchantments, unicorns and handsome princes.
Drew's imaginary scope is incredible. Apparently even in his sleep. While camping this last year, I got to experience several of his dreams second hand. He would talk, shout and walk in his sleep. One night, while I was up getting a drink, he sat up, looked at me and exclaimed, "That is a COOL picture!" It's not uncommon for him to wander into the living room, an hour after he's fallen asleep, seemingly awake and very urgent about whatever he's doing.
"Why are you up son?"
Fidget. "Well. I was. Uh. I mean." Fidget. Point randomly at something. "Uh......uh..."
"Go back to bed, son"
"Oh. Ok"
He comes by it naturally. David and I were both sleepwalkers. I actually remember being upset that my parents didn't understand how important it was for me to clean the upstairs bathroom one night. It took some work for them to get me back to bed. 
One night, or more likely the wee small hours, David shook me awake.
"Hey.....Hey. I need to talk to you. I'm just really concerned about our house. We're just not doing a very good job of taking care of it."
Shaking my sleep addled brain awake, I stared at him. How dare he wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me I'm not doing my job?! I mean.....sure. With two babies, the house wasn't perfect. But, really?!? And, yes. In case you were wondering. I do take everything personally at two o'clock in the morning.
"WHAT?" I replied, ready for a fight.
David started, looked at me blearily and said, "oh." He laid down, rolled over, and began snoring softly.
I laid awake for another hour arguing with him in my head.
All that to say, there are so many ways my Drewboy is a chip off the old block. I treasure my time with him because I know it's growing short. I'm going to wake up tomorrow and he'll be grown and gone. I need to find more opportunities to hold his hand while I still can.

Laws of Parenting

Motherhood is a different experience for every woman who goes through it.  It even changes each time you add a child to the family. Yet some things have remained constant these last few years:

If you were up for two hours in the middle of last night, your children will be up at least an hour earlier than necessary. 

If you need to get up and be somewhere early, you'll have to drag them out of bed kicking and screaming. 

If it can be blamed on a sibling, it will be. (Devin once tried to convince me that Tony had snuck up and pooped in his pants.)

Your children view  your time in the bathroom or on the phone as your personal declaration of boredom. And they will do their best to liven up your life.

It's not real family picture unless someone is crying, dirty, bruised or fighting. And the best pictures involve all four.

If above can't be managed, there's always the option of sharpie art on the face. It has to be the face to be special. 

Walls call to children like the Sistine chapel called to Michelangelo. 

Pizza spells I love you.

No matter how many pens disappear into the depths of your purse, when it comes time to sign a check you will be able to find two crayons and a chewed on sharpie. 

Those pens will reappear in the laundry. Probably with your favorite church sweater or your husband's new white shirt.

If there is mud available within a 40 yard radius, the children will find it.

The younger the child, the more of him will be covered in mud. Chuy came home today (yes. I know it's Sunday) covered in enough mud to adobe a small hut. 

 

 

The poopocolypse

This week has been rough. Getting back into the swing of life after holidays and vacations is always rough. My 3 littles punish me for being gone. After being gone 5 days, I was barely greeted and promptly ignored at first. Then came the tag teaming. Days of constant "stop hitting him!" "Don't touch that!" "If you lick him again, I will spank you!" (Yes. I actually said that.) Nap time has been too short and bed time too late. Laundry piles up and the kitchen resembles a war zone. But I'm ok with that.
I don't remember exactly when we first established survival mode in our home, but it's been a sanity saver. Every parent has times like these. Whether they have one child or twelve.  When I realize its time for survival mode, my priorities change. I focus on simplicity. Keep the kitchen manageable and do laundry. Sometimes that means we use a lot of paper plates and eat a lot of sandwiches and mac n cheese. Or that there are several piles of laundry waiting to be folded on the couch. That's ok. We're surviving.
Today, life finally clicked over a bit and we've managed to get the house clean, some school done and constructive play with the littles. It's been a blessing. There's a lot more to be done. I'll take it one day at a time.
On the funny side....I've dealt with way more than my fair share of poop lately. Here's one of several stories that I've been meaning to write:
Poop Armageddon
  I should have known it would be one of those days when I arose to the cat hacking up her first hairball on the living room rug. Blithely,  I went about preparing breakfast for the ravening hordes and sending David off to grocery shop with Danae and Devin. I will admit I laughed when I got a text from David.
  " Well, I sent Devin with Danae to look at toys and he pooped his pants. Danae took him to the bathroom herself before calling me so I can't get to him."
By the way. Never laugh at someone else's hilariously difficult situation. You will pay for it.
Lunch time came around, and i started my cherished pot of afternoon coffee. I poured a cup and began the wait for it to turn from scalding to mearly hot.  I cut a generous slice of brownie to go with it. Chuy came to me with his afternoon "nasty".  Waddling as if his diaper held a toxic corrosive,  he wimpered and began to proclaim, "nasty mama! Nasty!" And it was.  The pervasive leak required nothing less than a full hose down. To the bathroom we went Well, I sent Devin with Danae to look at toys and he pooped his pants. Danae took him to the bathroom herself before calling me so I can't get to him. .
Still in high spirits (after all, my coffee should be ready by the time i was done), I cleaned chuy up and decided to run a bath for him to play in. Tony came by and wanted to join up. No problem. They began to splash and play as I got a text from David.
"Do we have any yogurt?"
A quick check revealed we did. And provided Tony just enough time to begin hollering my name.
Chuy, "Momma! NASTY!"
I rounded the corner to find tony had laid some floaters in the tub. Great. Fish them out. Flush them down. Drain, hose down, rerun some water. Chuy was ready to get out anyway. I took him to the couch to dry off.
"MOMMA"
I sighed and finished fastening Chuy's diaper. Guess Tony didn't want to keep playing after all. My coffee could wait another minute. I popped back into the bathroom to find the Chernobyl of toddler poop. In the water. On the walls. Over the side of the tub. And Tony standing there saying, "I pooped, Mom! I get a candy now?"
Smothering my gag reflex and wishing I had a hazmat suit, I waded into the mess and began disaster relief measures.   About half way through,  one of my other kids came dashing through,  demanding a bathroom. I directed them around the corner to Danae's bathroom. Five minutes later, they returned to tell me that her toilet was clogged.
"And I had diarrhea. "
I had nothing to say. Staring at the freshly bleached boys bathroom, and unwilling to bring my treasured coffee into another contaminates zone, I headed for Danae's bathroom.  In the time it took to plunge the toilet, my two resourceful toddlers had taken my brownie and most of the rest of the pan of brownies and spread them from the kitchen, through the livingroom, down the hallway and into their bedroom.  They cheerfully set about dusting their room with dark chocolate crumbs and tucking brownie bites into little nooks for later.  It took me the better part of 30 minutes  to clean. The babies went to bed immediately thereafter.
Finally having a moment, I headed to the bathroom myself. Only to find my dog peeing on my sitting room floor.
The only thing I could think was, "I've got to write this story. You can't make up stuff like this!" I settled down to cold coffee and brownie crumbs and watched a movie instead.

More life in my day

In the last three months we have gone from having three children to having five. One of those five has significant behavior issues. Two of them are toddlers. Two of them have significant schooling needs. People keep telling me that I have my hands full and I guess they're right. Some days I get overwhelmed and frustrated and wonder what on earth I'm doing. Most days, though, I enjoy what I do. It's challenging and rewarding. It's really the privilege of a mom to be able to build relationships with her kids and watch them grow. Helping them to grasp a difficult concept and use it is so much fun!
There are many days in my life that it takes every resource I have to pilot through the day and get my little treasures tucked away safely back in bed at night. Those days are either the most rewarding or the most exhausting depending on my attitude.
When I meet my challenges head on I can fight hard and get a lot done. But in the end it's not enough and I'm exhausted by the sheer enormousness of my task. It's never finished.
When I get up knowing that I have to depend on God's grace to accomplish my tasks I don't find the task to be any smaller. I do find it easier to bear. I learn to see blessings in the work. I find it easier to allow myself to rest when necessary because I know my life is in the hands of the One who will equip me with everything I need to do His will.

Beginnings

I've realized that I haven't really given an overview of 'our story' on this site.  Our story is really a long one.  It's hard to pinpoint a time when the story of our foster experience began.  So maybe I'll simply post the autobiography I had to write as part of our home study.

My Story

The linoleum was cold on my feet as Christie and I slipped into the dark kitchen. My sister, Amanda's, ninth birthday slumber party had been great and now it was time to make breakfast. Christie dug in the olive green refrigerator while I hunted up the Betty Crocker. We gathered our ingredients with the normal whispers and giggles of seven year olds. I couldn't find a recipe for raspberry muffins so I used the blueberry muffin recipe.

“So how many raspberries do we put in?” Christie whispered. Her mom didn't cook much. This was her first time in the kitchen.

“It doesn't say anything about raspberries. Maybe we should just use the whole bag,” I said.

She looked at the gallon bag of hand picked raspberries for a moment and agreed. We poured the gallon of berries and juice in and eagerly waited for the lovely pink batter to cook.

The remainder of this story is rather obvious. The poor muffins were ruined! We have pictures of the disaster. I still get teased about it on the holidays. What I have wondered as an adult is: what on earth were two seven year olds doing in the kitchen alone?!?!? The answer to that explains a lot about who I am.

My parents were loving, hard working people. We never doubted that we were loved or that we would have food on the table. I was the middle of three children. Amanda, eighteen months my senior; and Jacob, five years my junior. My mother was a nurse who could always pick up extra shifts if money was tight. Dad was a jack of all trades. He dropped out of school after eighth grade and worked as a trucker, electrician, handyman, janitor, AC repairman and now freezer maintenance for an ice cream company. He would work any job to provide for his family. They taught all three of us children to work hard too. In order for the house to run smoothly, we all had jobs to do. My sister and I learned to cook at an early age. By the time we were twelve and thirteen we did most of the housework as well.

When Amanda and I were very young, my parents became Christians. Some of my earliest recollections are church events and worship. My parents understood so little about God and we learned with them as they did. It was natural for us to pray and talk of God. We never questioned whether or not we belonged to Him or whether He really existed.

When Amanda and I were school-age, Mom decided to homeschool us long enough to teach us to read well. The book “Why Johnny Can't Read” had affected her strongly and she wanted us to have a good start. She joked in later years that she guessed we just never read well enough because she never did put us in school. We did attend one semester of public school. Dad had been out of work for some time and had found a job in Virginia. He traveled up from Tyler, TX and promised to come back for us as soon as possible. Mom and us kids moved in with Grandma and Grandpa who insisted we go to school. It was rough for everyone. Mom had a new baby (Jacob) and we didn't really understand why Dad was gone. Our friends at school told us he would never come back. He did. Later that year, we all moved to Virginia. Even Grandma and Grandpa followed and found a house close by.

My parents have said that living in Virginia was hard. Everything was expensive and it took a long time to find friends. As a child I remember the huge house we rented with the big backyard and lots of trees. Amanda and I played together all day long and alternately babied Jacob or avoided him. We learned to love reading and make believe. Mom and Dad got us a piano and a guitar and encouraged us to learn how to play. We joined a church and a homeschool group and were leading families in the Virginia homeschool movement. I hated math; loved acting and singing. Mom discovered that I had dyslexia and had to spend lots of time helping me understand various educational concepts. We began learning sign language. For me, life in Virginia was easy.

Another great perk of living where we did was that Washington, D.C. was only an hour away. Friends and family would come visit during the summer or on holidays and we would haunt the Smithsonian. Our homeschool group did field trips to the Arlington Cemetery and Monticello. We picnicked by the Potomac river in the spring.

One of my biggest childhood struggles was bedwetting. I was born a preemie. I don't know if that had anything to do with my struggles, but my other siblings didn't have the same problem. Dad had been a bedwetter as a kid, so my parents were more understanding than some. I was woken from sleep one night by Mom wiping my face with a cool rag. A strange man was with her who explained to me that he had a machine to help me learn to not wet the bed. They slipped a strange metal pad under me that was hooked to a machine and explained that when I wet the bed it would wake me up and help me learn to go to the bathroom. It woke me in the dark of night with a reverberating clamor and an ominous red light. I ran out of the room in a panic, too afraid to turn it off. My parents tried to get me to use the contraption but eventually gave it up. I eventually learned how to control my problem on my own.

Christie was my best friend in Virginia. She was an only child of a Philippino mother and an American father. Her grandmother, who lived with them, didn't speak any english. I loved to sit in the kitchen and listen to Lola and Mrs. Peer talk. It sounded so romantic. The experience probably ignited my love of languages. Christ ie and I spent hours talking girl talk in the tree in their back yard or playing dress-ups with the prom dresses my mom had found for us at the local Goodwill. We were inseparable. I'll never forget the day Christie told me their family was going to move to Georgia.

“We won't be able to be best friends any more,” she said matter-of-factly.

“We can try,” I countered. My heart was pounding and I fought back tears.

“We'll probably find other best friends,” she said.

We ended up moving from Virginia to Ft. Smith, Arkansas before Christie and her family moved, but the relationship was never the same.

Moving away from Virginia was an adventure for me. Living in the south was so different. People carried groceries to our car. Sonic was a novel experience. Eventually we moved from a set of seedy apartments in Arkansas to a home with five acres just across the river in Oklahoma. Now we were country people. Dad's brother showed up on our doorstep with ten colored chicks from the feed store and a goat. We researched chickens with relish and build a chicken coop in hopes of getting eggs someday. Every chicken turned out to be a rooster. One thing city people don't know is that baby roosters don't come with a fully developed crow. When they hit puberty they begin developing it with all the skill of a thirteen year old boy trying to sing in the choir. It didn't take long of being woken at 5:30 in the morning with a cascade of aching crows for us to decide that these chickens would make better soup than pets. The goat grew up to be an ornery thing and was shipped off to a friend who wanted him.

A long trip further into the country finally ended at a large field full of horses. A weathered old cowboy sold my parents a chestnut mare he promised would be the perfect children's horse. Another thing city people have to learn is that the horse is the cheapest part of the deal. Sugarbaby came home and we bought saddles and brushes and feed. A bay pony followed her; then a parade of others. My early teenage years were taken up with showdeos (a junior rodeo), horse shows and trail riding. I learned to ride english, western and bareback. My parents bought a baby and Dad and I broke her to ride. Hours and hours were spent learning and working with the gorgeous creatures.

Not long after we bought our first horse, I fell off of one and broke my shoulder. That was the beginning of a long series of family tragedies that marked my adolescence. I can't remember them all in order. They all came on so fast. Amanda came down with Transverse-Myelitis and was paralyzed from the waist down. She had to relearn how to walk again. Dad fell off a horse and broke his shoulder bone, scapula and several ribs. He was out of work for a couple of months. Grandma was diagnosed with lung cancer. We spent lots of time with her in her last months. Dad had his first heart attack when I was almost sixteen. We spent my sixteenth birthday back in the hospital with him. Grandpa died of liver failure. He'd been a cargo pilot in the air force. Lots of his cargo had been agent orange. All of these tragedies forced us to grow up fast. We took care of the house and our own school work while the adults dealt with the difficulties. I questioned the goodness and faithfulness of God. He showed Himself good and faithful in the midst of difficult circumstances.

When I was fifteen, I met David's family for the first time. His mom was having a baby. My sister worked with the midwife who helped her deliver. They were homeschoolers too! They hadn't been involved in our homeschool group before this. They got involved in the homeschool group and started going to church with us. When Dad was in the hospital and recovering from his heart attack, I went to homeschool coop classes with the Baucoms. When David's dad got pneumonia, and David and his older siblings were gone, I moved in and helped out for a week. The Baucom family quickly became my second family. David is the oldest of seven, so his younger siblings were pretty young. Their family celebrated the Biblical Holidays instead of our conventional Christian ones. That fascinated me. I learned about the holidays and how they point to Christ. David played the guitar and we quickly hit it off. He started teaching me how to play better and we spent hours after church practicing. Many Sundays I would hang out with the older three Baucom kids: David, Diane and Joel. We'd get Joe Muggs coffee and sit talking at Books-A-Million for hours. Diane became my best friend. I quickly began to compare every other guy I knew to David. None of them measured up. But he didn't seem particularly interested in me. He was four years older. I settled in for friendship and worked hard to just enjoy his company without hoping for more.

I started taking college classes when I was sixteen. As dual enrollment, I took one class at a time until I graduated high school. By the time I was eighteen, I already had a semester of college behind me. College was a different thing for me. Before I had always been described as 'one of the Rowell girls'. Everyone knew my parents, my sister, my brother. I was defined by my family. In college, I had to begin figuring out who I was on my own. I was known only as Danielle Rowell. It was a novel concept for me. I enjoyed my studies and interaction with teachers. Interactions with my classmates was more difficult. Many of them seemed immature. I was used to being responsible for my own school work and studies. Getting good grades was important to me. I was going to college on a scholarship and didn't have the money to try again if I failed. I didn't really form any lasting friendships in College. Then again, I already had the one that mattered most to me.

Just after I graduated, the Baucoms announced that they were moving to South Dakota. It would probably only be for six months, but I was heartbroken. My anchor was being pulled out from underneath me and I wasn't sure what to do. They left and I cried all night long. When Diane called me before spring break and her family offered to fly me up to visit I was ecstatic. I left my books behind and spent a glorious week and a half in South Dakota. We went to the badlands and Rushmore and Crazy Horse. We laughed and talked and played together. I got to be close to David again for a while. We stayed up all night after a movie with his siblings sleeping around us and talked. I knew now that David was the only guy I would ever want to marry. But we were still just friends. When their six months was over, they learned that they'd be moving to Texas.

I helped the Baucoms pack to move to Texas. My heart bled with every packed box, but I tried to work cheerfully anyway. Diane and I emailed each other constantly while they were in Texas and I tried to focus on my schoolwork. One day, Diane sent me an email.

“I think David is going to talk to some girl's dad,” she said.

I felt sick as I stared at the words. I was going to lose him forever. If he'd just stay single, at least we could be friends! I prayed and sought to give the situation to God.

The next weekend, David showed up at my church. I expected him to announce that he was courting a girl. Or maybe already engaged. He led worship that day and I struggled to pay attention to the chords we were playing. No announcement came. After church, David blew me off. I was a little upset that he didn't want to hang out as usual until I saw him talking to my dad. Talking to MY dad! My heart fell to my stomach and started fluttering around there. Poor Dad. Mom had to work that day. He was left driving home with just me and Jacob. Amanda had gotten married the year before to her childhood sweetheart. The next week was excruciating. The parents talked and prayed and whispered behind closed doors. Finally, my parents gave David permission to pursue a relationship with me. (If any of this sounds old-fashioned......it is. Our parents latched on to some very conservative beliefs and raised us very carefully. There's ups and downs to that, but right now it's just part of my story.)

David and I courted for four months. We were engaged for eight. We were legally married two weeks before our actual wedding date so that our dads could perform the wedding ceremony. On June 1, 2002, I married my best friend. Our first kiss was an awkward one in front of the entire audience but we've gotten better. We honeymooned for a week in South Padre before coming home to Texas.

Married life has been an adventure. Much of it has been spent realizing that we don't believe all the same things our parents did. Reviewing our own relationship with God, with each other, with life. Assumptions we originally held have changed and we're stronger for it. We still celebrate the Biblical holidays, though we take part in our church and my families celebrations too. We are homeschooling our children but are willing to accept that other forms of schooling may be used in the future. We live in the country, but aren't really wedded to the idea of getting back to nature.

I got pregnant with Danae after 3 months of marriage. We were so excited! We put money down on a home and moved out to the country. Pregnant life was difficult. I was tired and sick. No one told me my personality might change or that I might gain fifty pounds and have a hard time losing it. We assumed that I'd be able to give birth naturally like my sister had. I couldn't. Danae was born by c-section in Tyler on May 24, 2003. She was over a week late but otherwise healthy happy and adorable. Adjusting to motherhood wasn't easy but it was satisfying. Thankfully Danae was an easy baby because I was pregnant again just 9 months later.

Drew was born by c-section in Tyler on October 6, 2004. He was five weeks early and sick. The doctors rushed him to Dallas and he spent almost two weeks in the NICU. As soon as I was released from the hospital I went and stayed with him. When he came home he was fussy and didn't sleep well. After two months, we discovered acidophilus for babies and it changed our life. It settled Drew's stomach and he became a happy, compliant baby. We figured we were done having babies.

In June 2007 we decided to try one more time. I was beginning to get my own health under control and we really desired to add to our family. Devin was born April 6, 2009 after nearly a month in the hospital. He was early and tiny. He refused to nurse or sleep. He also refused to act like a preemie, preferring instead to try and catch up to his siblings as quickly as possible. Now he's a headstrong, healthy, lovable little two year old.

While forming our family has been the biggest adventure of the last few years, we've been busy while doing it. When Danae was three months old, we took her camping. We hiked in the mountains of New Mexico and even made a trip to Juarez. When I was pregnant with Drew, we packed ourselves and a couple of David's brothers up and spent two weeks in Washington, D.C. Last year we made a trip out to California, stopping at the Grand Canyon and Petrified Forest on the way. We love to travel and experience life. Someday we'll pack up the family for a European vacation. There's too much of the world to see to spend all of it in one place.

For David and I, adoption has always been an option. We didn't know exactly how we'd go about doing it, but we've always had the desire to do so. Foster care is a step toward that for us. We have the opportunity to welcome children into our home and providing them stability when they need it the most. Honestly, we do hope to eventually find a child or two (or three!) that we can adopt on the way. God has blessed us with open hearts and a peaceful home and we'd like to share that as much as possible. We weren't long married before we began coming across people who had adopted or were doing foster care. Everywhere we turned, it seemed like God was nudging us in that direction. Actually taking steps toward doing it has been scary. There are so many 'what if's' in the situation. Mostly, 'What if this doesn't work out?'. Everyone knows someone who's had a horrible experience with foster or adopted kids. We are choosing to step out in faith and know that God knows where He's leading.

I was looking through my daughter's photo album the other day. There was a picture of her about eighteen months old. She was sitting on our kitchen island dressed in a jumper, covered in some kind of cake batter and licking a beater. The look of utter joy on her face made me smile. Today, Danae and her cousin got into the kitchen made a cake for my brother-in-law's birthday. I realized that somewhere along the way, I've begun equipping my daughter to live her own life. I hovered in the corners making sure that everything was done right but I wasn't really needed. Amy and Danae read instructions, measured, stirred and scraped. They talked and giggled like girls do and when they were done, a beautiful yellow cake was baking in the oven. While I hope that my daughter can learn life's lessons in an easier way than I did, I find myself thankful for the responsibility that I learned to bear. It grew me into the woman I am today.