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

Let It Go

So we survived the first week of school by the skin of our teeth. This was quite possibly the longest, busiest week ever in the history of weeks. No lie. School started on Monday and after George and I got all 3 boys to 3 different schools that start at 3 different times, he went on to work while Vivie and I spent the day trying to get caught up on laundry and cleaning...just so you know, with 6 people living in this house, I am never caught up on anything. I used to think of it as job security; however, I have now decided I should probably be fired. As a matter of fact, when the kids' have the friends over, I often tell them, "Please excuse the mess. I had to fire the cleaning lady because she was doing such a lousy a job and I can't seem to find a new one."

Between getting back into our school routine, taking Jacob to his predawn cross country workouts, attending various parent meetings, starting back to work at my part-time preschool teaching gig, hosting Meet the Teacher Night at said preschool, and still trying to stay on top of regular household duties, I dropped the big birthday party ball and found myself drowning in mom guilt. Mom guilt...quite possibly the worst form of guilt there is. Ugh.

Princess Vivie's birthday is next week and we have a long standing practice that our kiddos cannot invite friends to their birthday parties until they start kindergarten which will be next year for Vivie. Instead, we have a party with the family usually the weekend before the big day and then we also do a little something on the actual birthday. So this year, like every other 4-year old girl on the planet, Vivie has been wanting all things Frozen. She specifically asked for a chocolate cake with Frozen decorations for her family birthday bash. No big deal....of course we would do that for our Princess Vivie. Well, somehow some way, this weekend sneaked up on me and I realized yesterday that I still needed to order her cake. I had exactly 137 things that needed to get done yesterday so Vivie and I ventured out to tackle my never-ending To Do List while the boys were at school. It was a race against time to accomplish everything and I really had to pick and choose the things that just had to be done and somewhere in the organized chaos, I fell short and totally forgot about the cake...until yesterday evening.

Baking one was out of the question because any attempts for me to decorate a cake are usually quite disastrous. Been there done that and learned my lesson. So George and I made our way to Wal-Mart because it is the only store within a 5-mile radius of our home and the baker informed us that there was no way she could have a cake ready for us the next day and she didn't even have any pre-made generically decorated chocolate cakes that we could take to add Frozen decorations ourselves. So we drove several miles to Target where the bakery was closed for the night but we found a cute enough marble cake...that's kind of like chocolate...but there was no one there to write, "Happy Birthday Vivie." They did happen to have 6 and only 6 Frozen cupcakes...3 vanilla and 3 chocolate...which we grabbed. Well, originally we had been expecting 7 family members apart from our 6 for this shindig but due to some extenuating circumstances, all of my in-laws had to bow out at the last minute leaving our party down to 8 including ourselves. Even still, 6 cupcakes for 8 people was not going to work and it certainly wasn't the big deal birthday party I had wanted for Vivie.

Vivie, the 4th child. Ugh. My 3rd and 4th babies seem to always get a raw deal. It's all logistics. When it was just the 1st and 2nd, they were still so little and our world wasn't inundated with practices, meetings, and appointments. When it was just the 1st and 2nd, our budget wasn't stretched as thin and there was more time and money to invest in these life celebrations. I was younger and less harried. Somewhere along the way, I went from sending out real invitations in keeping with the theme of the party to messaging the invitations. So yes, I am aware that the 3rd and 4th aren't having exactly the same childhood as the 1st and 2nd, and yes, I know that the love is still there and that is all that truly matters but I also know that you moms of 3+ kiddos know what I am getting at with this guilt of all things not being equal. Top that with the fact that not only is Vivie the 4th kiddo, but she is also adopted and you have the key ingredients for this particular mom fail to weigh very heavily on my heart last night. I don't ever want her to think she got the short end of the stick...that she is not loved as completely and wholly as my boys...because truth be told, she along with the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd, are the very rhythm to which my heart beats. They are my prayers personified, and  the reward of the womb whether conceived in mine or not.

So there we were in the checkout line at Target, me on the verge of tears and George trying to talk me down from the ledge, when the cashier dropped the cupcakes on their side. Are you kidding me?! She laughed and said, "Oops," as she proceeded to bag them. Uh-oh. Poor girl...obviously not a mother and certainly unaware of my emotional state. I'm pretty sure I jerked my head in her direction and spurted blood from my eyes when I said in a demonic voice, "What do you mean 'Oops'? I am not paying for jacked up cupcakes!" I think I scared her. I know I scared George. I could see the horrified look on his face...the Oh Heck. Is This Going To Be Our White Trash Moment Right Here In Target? look on his face. We bought the cupcakes. You know what they say, 6 jacked up Frozen cupcakes in the hand are better than a cake in the bush.

Because all of the out of town guests had canceled (and let me just be clear) for important reasons. We decided to push the family bash back to dinner which gave me some time to find a cake to supplement the not so fabulous cupcakes. With a new game plan this morning, I went to a different Target and bought little Elsa and Anna figurines to serve as cake toppers. Then I  went to Kroger and found a pre-deocorated chocolate cake with white icing and blue designs on it. I literally jumped up and down when I saw it. I asked the lady in the bakery if she would write "Happy birthday, Vivie," on it and she said she could but she only had a few color choices for the icing. I made my peace with purple even though it did not match the cake at all but it is one of Vivie's favorite colors. Things were clearly looking up. While the alleged cake decorator was putting the final touches on the cake, I was doing pirouettes around the freshly baked bread. Yes! Yes! Yes! My baby girl was going to get her Frozen cake after all! The lady handed me the cake and it's like I heard the needle scratching across the vinyl abruptly ending the melody in my head. Maybe I should have asked for her decorating credentials. Maybe I should have done a tox screen, smelled her breath or at the very least asked to see a handwriting sample. All I can figure is that they let the deli girl cover the bakery today.

I was out of time and out of options. I decided that Vivie wouldn't notice how messy the writing was so I took the cake and added some Frozen flair.

My sweet girl enjoyed her party. She loved all of her gifts...well, she pretended to love the clothes because as she said the other day, "Anyone who loves me knows that clothes are not a real present." The best part is that we get to do a mini repeat next week on her actual birthday. I already have the cupcakes ordered. It's all good until next year...oh dear, don't let me forget to make reservations at Build-A-Bear.

Like a Strand in the Wind

So I had another birthday this year...6 months ago to be exact. Let me preface this with the fact that I am so very grateful (truly, I am) to have been blessed with another year because this whole living thing is...well, kind of fun. It just so happens that I celebrated or recognized or to be quite honest, bemoaned hitting another milestone age. The big 4-0. You know, 40. "They" say it's the new 30. "They" lie. "They" say 40 is FABULOUS! "They" lie. "They" lie like a cheap toupee on a sweaty bald man's lumpy uneven head. Let me tell you what 40 is...it's the new F word, that's what 40 is.

Remember when the milestone ages were exciting? I mean wasn't it fun to turn 10 and kiss those single digits goodbye? And then 12, because like Stephen King told us, we would never have any friends quite like the ones we did when we were 12. Oh and 13 was huge! Being a teenager was the pinnacle of cool. 15 meant a learner's permit and for me, my first real kiss. Of course, everyone loves a sweet 16. And just like Stevie Nicks' white winged dove, I didn't think anything could be better than being 17 except maybe turning 18 in an election year even if my presidential candidate of choice lost. (That noise you hear is the conservative nerd alert). At 18, I met George and at 19, I fell in love with him. Then came 20 marking the end of my teenage years although I think part of me will always be 17...it must be a part on the inside...deep on the inside...because nothing on the outside still appears to be stuck at 17. Seriously.

It seems to be all downhill after 21. The next big one after that is The Dirty 30. The Dirty 30. I would say that I would love to be The Dirty 30 again except that when I turned 30, I had a 4-year old, a 3-year old, and a 4-month old so when I hear The Dirty Thirty, I automatically think about dirty diapers and spit-up on everything. Everything. Boy could not hold down his milk for anything. Don't get me wrong, when I was in the throes of caring for 3 little boys under the age of 5, I loved it. Absolutely loved it and that was after having been pregnant for nearly 5 years solid.

But now I am the new F word. I am 40 and I am tired. Seriously. I am a night owl willing to stay up until the wee hours of the morning because if my high school curfew taught me anything it's that apparently all the really cool stuff happens after midnight and since my high school curfew was midnight, I therefore missed out on all the cool stuff (whatever that may have been) and that, my dears, is why I was not cool in high school. But I digress...these days, I can stay up all night as long as I am not watching a movie. If George and I start watching a movie after 9:30, I will fall asleep and have to watch the blasted thing the next morning by myself before George takes it back the to the Redbox. 40 did that to me. 40 has betrayed me in lots ways. I won't tell you what body part I tripped over while getting out of the shower a few months back...suffice it to say, the old girls aren't what they used to be. The new horror hit me just last week...I thought I was suddenly going blind or possibly having a stroke. Thankfully that wasn't the case but I'm pretty sure my eye doctor will tell me at next week's appointment that it's time for readers. Readers. Mercy. 40...six months in and I shudder to think how much deeper those lines around my eyes are going to get and those laugh lines....who is laughing about those?

Seriously though, the Big 4-0. It's not all bad. I still have Jesus...and really He is everything. I have 4 beautiful children...the most beautiful children. I have been blessed with a great love that has lasted more than 20 years. And as it turns out, it's true what "they" say...I am comfortable in my own skin in a way that only comes with self-confidence and age and wisdom. I guess "they" don't always lie. Of course, "they" didn't tell me that I would be dealing with wrinkles and pimples on that skin all at the same time. At 40, I still know what's cool. Chuck Taylors are cool. I wear Chucks therefore I am cool even if I wasn't cool in high school. Knowing and being are two very different things after all. I started running last year (when I was still 39) and sometimes I imagine running backwards will turn back the miles as if I am an odometer in a John Hughes' film. It didn't work for Ferris but I have discovered that when I put on my running skirt and hot pink calf sleeves and pop in my ear buds and let my guilty pleasure songs get me pumped up for the run, and it's just me pounding the pavement, feeling like I'm flying even when my lungs are telling me to quit, you would be hard pressed to convince me that I am not on the edge of 17.

Have You Seen My Invisible Plane?

I have a love affair with all things Wonder Woman. Maybe it's because I grew up watching Lynda Carter swoop in and save the day wearing tall red boots and a patriotic strapless leotard. She looked amazing with her perfectly coiffed hair and her gold boomerang tiara. To me, she was fierce and beautiful all at once.  I, like so many others, wanted to grow up to be Wonder Woman (and a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader--clearly I was raised by a pack of feminists).

For my birthday, my friend, Leslie, gave me a Wonder Woman apron. It was my favorite gift and let me just confess, when I wear it, it goes straight to my head. The boys all had the same reaction the first time they saw me wearing it....it was a look of shock and horror rounded out with a gasp. I often tell them that I want to wear it when I go running through the neighborhood because surely, it will only make me faster. I think they lie awake some nights worried that one day at school a friend will say, "Hey...was that your mom in the Wonder Woman apron that I saw running around the lake yesterday?"

Several years ago, one of my boys was given a set of Justice League action figures that contained a Wonder Woman. The boys didn't want her because they considered her to be a "girl toy,"  and this was in the days before our sweet Vivie came along so they gave Wonder Woman to me. I carried her around in my purse for years. She was a fun little reminder of my childhood plus she was a gift from my little guys. Somehow, somewhere, I lost my little Wonder Woman and I have been on the lookout for another one ever since. Finally, a few weeks ago, I spotted one in a funky little local candy store. I knew I had to have her even though she is different than the last one I had. She isn't really small enough to carry in my purse so for the time being, she rides shotgun in the cup holder of The Big Pearl. My new Wonder Woman isn't quite like Lynda Carter's Wonder Woman. In fact, she looks a little more vintage than I would prefer but hey, so do I these days! Nonetheless, she is absolutely cool.

So a couple of weeks ago, Wonder Woman and I were out on the town...just the two of us...running some errands and we...er...I mean I...I decided to hit the drive-thru of a fast food place to grab us...er...me a salad for lunch. The drive-thru line was long and it was the peak lunch rush hour so there were two college age guys standing outside taking people's orders to help move the line along. When it was my turn, one of the young guys popped his head into my window and asked how he could help me but before I could even place my order, he spotted my gal pal Wonder Woman and he asked, "Is that you? Are you Wonder Woman?" 

Without skipping a beat, I replied, "As a matter of fact, I am Wonder Woman. She is my alter ego." Well, this apparently made his day because he was quite excited to know that he had just met the real Wonder Woman. 

Just as he was beginning to jump up and down, his co-worker came over and asked me if everything was okay but before I could answer, my first friend said, "DUDE! She is Wonder Woman!! I saw her action figure and asked if it was her and she said YES!" 

The other guy quickly chastised him for asking me that and said, "DUDE! You can't ask Wonder Woman to reveal her identity. It's supposed to be a secret. Now she is going to have to shank you!"

Then guy number 1 said, "No, man. I thought I could join forces with her. I want to be a superhero, too. I think I could be like Robin or something."

Guy number 2 then said, "No, man. You need to set your sights higher. You could be The Flash and I could be Batman!"

Guy number 1 was so stoked at the thought of this that he stopped everything and looked at his friend and said, "Wow. Do you really think that I could be The Flash?! That is so cool, man."

They hugged and bumped each other's chest, finished taking my order, and then the three of us parted ways...all of us superheroes...all of us laughing and smiling... the two of them clearly in the early stages of a bromance...and me thinking, "Yep, I did grow up to be Wonder Woman and that kid knows it even if no one else does." 

Toto, I've A Feeling We're Not in the Hundred Acre Wood Anymore

I woke up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding this morning. I had a dream that the kids were getting ready for their day, and I had forgotten it was actually the first day of school. I realized that I still needed to pack their lunches and we didn't really have any of our usual lunchbox fare on hand. After I pulled together some less conventional items for their lunches, I began the search for the lunchboxes, themselves. I knew I had bought them but for the life of me, I couldn't remember where I had stashed them. The whole pace of the dream was frantic and stressful and it ended with me out in the school yard chasing my new Thirty-One bag which was being carried away by winds that must have come directly from Oz. I blindly stepped in what I thought was mud only to realize it was quicksand engulfing me right in front of my children as I cheerfully shouted,  "Have a great day! Wash your hands often! Be kind to others, and make a new friend!"

School actually starts next week so I still have time to stock the fridge and pantry with lunch goodies and to hunt down those lunchboxes which shouldn't be nearly as elusive as they were in my first of the season's Back-to-School Nightmares. I know there are some of you moms out there who are ready for that first day to arrive, and while I have organized all the supplies, bought the new shoes, and scheduled those back-to-school haircuts, emotionally speaking, I am not ready. Summer has flown by leaving me in a cloud of chlorinated dust. I had a big Sand Bucket List for the Summer of 2014 and I need another 2 months to check off all those little home improvement projects I wanted to tackle, all those books I wanted to read, and all those field trips I wanted to take with my crew. But alas...we are out of time, friends. Out of time.

Jacob will be a sophomore in high school this year. Ugh. That boy...how utterly rude of him to grow up right before my very eyes. When I dropped him off for his first day of kindergarten, he was so ready...he just went right into his classroom, smiled and waved goodbye. I, on the other hand, did the ugly cry as I made my way down the hall. I will never forget the horrified look on the assistant principal's face as I'm sure he made a mental note, "Yep, she's one of those crazy moms." Jacob came home from school that day informing me that he no longer needed his old buddy, Pooh. It was a tough blow for Pooh and for me. Now, Jacob is learning to drive. He has man hairy legs, and is quickly closing in on 6 feet. There are even times when I hear him in another room, that I mistake him for George. My man child is quickly becoming more man and less child.

Liam will be in his last year of middle school, Nathan in his last year of elementary school, and Vivie in her last year of preschool. I think this was poor planning on my part. Too many emotional milestones at once. It's funny, I have been dreading next year because of the all their firsts hitting at once...first year of high school, first year of middle school, and kindergarten for the baby of the bunch....but I hadn't given much thought to how hard all of  the lasts would be for me. There are days when I feel like I have been a mom for every millisecond of 15 years but when the Back-to-School season hits its peak, it feels like I have only had these four babies for precious minutes.

So for all you mamas who are first time kindergarten moms, I would like to tell you that each year gets a little easier to let them go, but it hasn't for me. Each year seems to go more quickly than the last and each passing year brings us closer to pushing these guys out of our nest. Take heart in knowing that the first day of school can be tough but you will quickly find your rhythm, and kindergarten won't seem like such a big deal...until the end of next summer when you are faced with yet another first day of school. I cry a little on the first day of school every single year and that's okay because motherhood is a difficult blessing at best. We spend all of our time, invest all of our love, and share all of our wisdom in the hopes that our children will someday leave us.