Mom Fail #76,893

George and I have been teaching a Sunday school class for 2-year olds at our home church for 9 years. Nine. That's a lot of changing poopy diapers all in the name of Jesus. Seriously though, we love it. Every week, we teach Bible stories, make crafts, and get our toddler fix all without having to increase the size of our own family. We have already been there and done that 4 times over (13 really if you count all the fosters we have welcomed into our home and I count them).

At a recent appreciation luncheon, our preschool minister awarded us with a gift certificate to Olive Garden. We'd been planning to use it for a much needed date night and I decided tonight was going be that date night. With Jacob being 15 and really a pretty responsible kid, we have allowed him to earn his keep by babysitting Vivie once in a blue moon so that his parents will be able to remember why they like each other so much. It's a win-win if you ask me. We get free babysitting and Jacob gets parents who still want to be married to each other.

Well, it's cross country season which means it is Team Spaghetti Dinner Season as well. Jacob's team had a meet today and a team dinner tonight which he told me about after said meet. He spends so much of his school year training for his sport and studying for all of his pre-AP and AP classes that on the rare occasion when he asks to do something social, I am hard pressed to say no...as was the case tonight. I told George that our dinner plans had been sauced and he said let's just take Vivie and whomever else wants to go with us. Liam opted to have the whole house to himself for a bit (classic middle kid who shares a room with his younger brother move if you ask me), but Nathan, on the other hand was so excited to try a "new place." Because we have 4 children, 3 of which usually order off the adult menu, we don't eat out often and when we do, 9 out of 10 times we choose Mexican fare. So yes, my soon to be 11-year old son had probably never had Olive Garden. I don't know if I'm sad that he was so stoked about Olive Garden or if I'm grateful that he is so easily pleased. I'm leaning toward grateful.

So our party of 2 was a party of 4 tonight and it was really a precious night of being able to just really focus on the younger 2 for a change. After dinner, we allowed the kiddos to order dessert and both Nathan and Vivie decided on the ice cream sundae. When the server put the ice cream sundae on the table in front of Nathan, my sweet boy looked at me with his dancing blue eyes and said, "Wow. I have never had chocolate sauce on my ice cream!" I looked at him in utter disbelief and said, "Sure you have." He promised me that no he had not. Chocolate sauce on ice cream was a new and exciting development in his experience with desserts. George just shook his head and said, " This is Jacob and the gum all over again."

Confession time: I abhor gum chewing. I think it is just disgusting and even more so if you smack your gum. Because of this, I was never one to buy gum for the kids. If anyone will smack gum, you know kids will. If anyone will get gum stuck in her hair, it will be a kid or at the very least, because of a kid. If you ever find gum smashed in your carpet, you know it's because a kid did it. In my world, gum + kids = mess waiting to happen. So yeah, I tried to keep gum on the streets and out of the mouths of my kids.

When Jacob was 5, he played t-ball. One of the moms (the dealer, as I like to call her) brought gum as part of the team snack. Gum. Seriously? Was gum on the list of approved snacks? Baseball moms are like the honey badger...they don't care about any such list of approved snacks. Maybe soccer moms do, but baseball moms are perfectly content to shove one of those plastic squeeze type bottles filled with nothing more than red dye #40 and high fructose corn syrup into the right hand of your precious little slugger and a Little Debbie Star Crunch into his left hand.  So the snack mom handed Jacob a piece of gum and my little guy held it in his sweet little hand with uncertainty written all over his baby face. He looked at the gum then at George and then at the gum again. All of the other kiddos were standing around smacking their gum like professional baseball players and then there was our sweet innocent Jacob, sheltered from this oral vice, standing there simply dazed and confused. George, embarrassed for Jacob, jumped to his aid immediately and explained the whole nonsensical chew-chew-chew-but-don't-swallow-it concept of gum. On the drive home following the game, I got an earful from George about how embarrassing it was that our kid was the only kid who had never even seen gum. It was done, It was over. My gum-free world was now a world of gum smacking bubble popping and sticky spots on the floor and furniture chaos. From that moment on, George took it upon himself to enlighten our kiddos in the ways of gum chewing when they were no more than 2 or 3 years old. He vowed never to have another incident of gum incompetency in our family again.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not as uptight as it seems. I try like most moms to ensure that my kiddos are eating a varied diet with lots of healthy choices from all the main food groups but I also let them enjoy some fun foods, too. For instance, when Hostess scared us all by going out of business, I bought some Hostess Cupcakes and Twinkies so the kids would know what a loss the No Nutritional Value This Can't Be Real Food World was experiencing. And just this summer, when Jacob asked about getting some Pop Tarts. I casually mentioned that when I was a kid, the frosted grape ones were my favorite. He said, "You know what's sad? I have not had enough to know which ones are my favorite." So I spent the next several weeks allowing the kids to try a wide range of Pop Tarts. I haven't bought any in weeks and weeks and you know what, they don't seem to miss them. I also bake cookies (and by cookies I mean real cookies with 2 sticks of butter and too much sugar to acknowledge) nearly every single week of the school year. So don't tell me I'm the food police just because I reserve soda for special occasions and I refuse to buy fruit snacks because their sugar bugs make cavities like rabbits make bunnies.

All is now right in the dessert world as Nathan has experienced the thrill of chocolate syrup on his ice cream.

I Spy With My Little Eye

Ever since I was a preschooler, I have wanted a pet llama. I have told George countless times that if we ever have acreage, I want to raise llamas. Now, I don't know the first thing about caring for llamas. I am a city girl at heart and frankly, I struggle with the day to day mess created by Scout, the ill-mannered white not-so-much-red heeler who drops enough fur all over the house to cause us all to wonder how the dog is not completely bald by now. And don't even get me started on who exactly will be shoveling all that llama poo. There really is no logical reason for me to take on llama rearing but I can tell you from where this deep-seated desire came. I can thank Sesame Street and their catchy little ditty about a girl taking her pet llama to the dentist.

What can I say? For whatever reason, this segment sold me on the idea of a pet llama. Watching this now all these years later, I still imagine what it would be like to have a pet llama and I just know that I would sing, "Me and My Llama" changing the words to narrate the events of our day. Yes folks, TV can mess up kids and put all kinds of thoughts in their heads.

My granddad knew about my plans to have a pet llama and he always told me I should think about getting a goat instead. My granddad was in fact a country boy in his younger years and having been around all kinds of animals, including a pet monkey that he had while serving in the Navy during the Korean War, he said that goats were by far the most fun pet a person could have. 

When Liam was a lot younger, he actually took art lessons from a lady whose husband was a goat farmer. So every week when we went out to her house for the lessons, we would get to see all the goats. They also had a few Great Pyranese and Australian Shepherds to protect the goats from the local coyotes. Those were some gigantic hairy dogs who wandered the property at their leisure and every now and again they would make their way into the house to nap on the cool tile floor. One day, while sitting in the art teacher's living room, I spied a grape on her kitchen floor. I was thinking of picking it up and tossing it in the trash for her but I was afraid I was going to disrupt her lesson so I just ignored it. Well, when class was over, and we were all gathering in her kitchen, I was reminded of the grape on the floor but before I could pick it up, one of the students inadvertantly kicked it and the grape rolled across the floor stopping so close to my feet that I nearly stepped on it. I was just about to bend over and get it when the art teacher noticed it. I said, "Looks like you lost a grape." To which she replied while leaning over to scoop up the grape, "Oh no, this isn't a grape. Apparently one of the goats lost an eye and one of the dogs must have carried it into the house. It happens all the time." All the time?! Let me just be clear. I do not do eyeballs...at all. Knowing I had seen that thing rolling all over her kitchen and that I had almost stepped on it and had almost picked it up...well, it was almost more than I could take. It was by the grace of God that I did not pass out right then and there.

Suffice it to say, I can clearly see that I am not cut out for dealing with farm animals, and as for Scout, she can drop her fur all over my house as long as she keeps her eyes to herself.

From The Other Mother: An Open Letter Response

It's funny how God works, crossing the paths of certain people at a specific time in a way that seems to be all coincidental and then you start to peel back the layers and you realize this was no coincidence. Something that person said or did impacted my journey in a significant way or vice versa. I have a sweet and precious friend that read my post An Open Letter to the Other Woman, and she shared with me her adoption story. She has a different perspective than I do because you see, she is someone else's Other Mother. She shared with me her heartfelt letter that she wrote somewhat in response to my letter. This friend of mine is beautiful and brave but she asked to remain anonymous so as to not potentially hurt members of her family who are unaware that she carried a baby and made the difficult decision to place him for adoption. Her story may not be like all of The Other Mothers because well...it is her story. I feel blessed and honored knowing without a doubt that she has impacted my journey simply by sharing her story with me.

From The Other Mother:

Thank you. These two words are so little and often, so overused, but I want you to know that they are so full of so much meaning...from me to you.

We share something, a connection that no other women can share. Though we have never met, I love you. I love you for raising our baby. I love you for loving our baby. 

Thank you for wiping tears. Thank you for teaching Jesus. Thank you for playing games. But most importantly, and the greatest thank you I have from the deepest part of my heart, thank you for being mommy.

I want you to know that one of the most difficult things for me to say is our… our baby. Yes, I am the birth mother. I gave birth to a beautiful baby. But I was not at a place in my life to be a mother.  You were at a place where you wanted – needed - to be a mother. Our baby was at place where he needed to be doubly loved. In God’s perfect way, He designed those places to all be in alignment with each other.  He allowed me to be a part of the blessing of you becoming mommy. He allowed me to be a part of the blessing of bringing a child into your home.

I think about you often. I think about you on Mother’s Day, on the birthday of our baby, on first days of school, on every holiday, on days that end in Y. I think about everything that you have experienced or will experience with our baby and I am grateful that God put YOU there for our baby. You specifically. Not just anyone, but you. You were chosen to be mommy. I was chosen to be the other mother. While I know you cling to the title MOMMY with honor and grace. I cherish being the other mother. I am amazed that God chose me to be a part of the blessing of this trinity, mommy, baby and the other mother. 

You are mommy. I am the one that is so incredibly blessed to know that you are mommy. In my heart, I am confident that our baby is exactly where he is meant to be, where God planned for him to be, right there in your lap with your gentle caress carrying him off to dreamland.

As you say your prayers and our baby, pray for the other mother, and  know I pray for you both. I thank Him for connecting us all in a way that we will never be separated.

Go, raise our baby. Love our baby. Cherish our baby. Be mommy to your baby… and I will be the other mother to your baby.

An Open Letter to the Other Woman

To My Daughter's Other Mother,

What I want you to know on this day that our baby girl was born is that she is loved...deeply loved and cherished as all children should be with the To the Moon and Back Thank You Jesus For This Precious Child I Would Lay Down My Life For Her kind of love. She has brought so much laughter and love into our family. She is nothing short of an answered prayer and a blessing from the Lord.

What I also want you to know is that I love you. I love you more than I could ever adequately express. My constant prayer for you is that you know real joy, that you have a saving relationship with Christ, that you find yourself in a healthy place in life, that you are not haunted by your decision to place our daughter for adoption, and that thoughts of this day overwhelm your heart with love and peace. I often imagine that maybe one day you and I could meet and over a cup of tea, we could share our love for Vivie. Maybe you would tell me about the day she was born. Maybe you would laugh to know how Vivie scaled the refrigerator to get to the Halloween candy or how she shimmied up the downspout of the rain gutter to pet a green anole. Maybe you could tell me if her asthma is genetic or if those brown eyes are like yours. I could tell you how Vivie and I often include you in her bedtime prayers...how we tell Vivie how much you must love her to make such a difficult choice knowing it was all for her. Maybe we could be friends and our daughter would see a little bit of herself in both of us. Maybe she could love us both and you would see that God had a plan for her all along. Maybe.

Until that time comes, I just hope you know that not a day goes by that I don't realize and appreciate the gift you allowed God to give our family. Thank you. Thank you for choosing life when our throw away society makes it so easy to choose otherwise. Thank you for loving our baby enough to recognize she needed more than you had to give at the time. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. No matter how many times I say it, it will never be enough but here's to hoping that maybe one day you will get the chance to hear it.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.
With much love and deepest gratitude,
Vivie's Other Mother