Cowgirl Boots and Sunflowers

Bay achieved the magicalific age of 8 today -- and she delighted in her day of treats  .  .  .  plastic bugs to share with classmates and the kids at "Coco's" (fab sitter Colleen)  .  .  .  a movie pass from that very Colleen -- for Coco-Bay special time at the theater together  .  .  .  and then our Cluver Family Birthday Ritual of dinner (home-cooked chosen by the child of honor) followed by gift-opening, and then the cake!  The beautiful and incredibly realistic sunflowers (Bay's fave bloom) were gifted to her by big sis' Anna  .  .  .

The theme (for which inter net images are posted around the house along with "8" printouts and balloons) was "Cowgirls" and "Baby Wild Animals," because "They're both great, and I just can't choose, Mom."  Thankfully, the kids have grown to relish waking the morn of their big day to see these few, simple decorations.  We're talkin' cheap balloons full of parental hot air tied up with some curly ribbon.  It works.

And the rule on birthday cake is that any dessert, really, can be chosen, and said sweets will be homemade unless it is a particular confection worth the price -- i.e. DQ ice cream cake.  (The cookie dough variety is Bay's annual pick.)

Basking in the serenade and in anticipation of the impending wish-making.

 A homemade poster for my little Ramona.

More than pleased with the haul, Bay poses for the annual gifts-on-couch shot.  Now, before you say, Holy cow!" let me clarify that this pic includes the many awesome presents from aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  Chad and I gifted her the "My Generation" doll (Target -- 1/3 the cost of American Girl) and the "Cowgirl boots" ($7 clearance synthetic -- she loves 'em); the softball cleats are from the brothers; and, of course, the already celebrated life-size flower from the sis' not shown here. 

It's fun for me to witness this modest indulgence for my youngest, as she is always

thrilled with whatever she is given.  Yes!

I was overjoyed to find that over the course of the evening Anna had been working secretly at her desk in the playroom to create matching necklace and ring set for Bay, which she wrapped up in this hand-made envelope and accompanying note.  All of this was attached cleverly to the leaf of a sketched tulip on the back of a sign Anna hung on Baylor's part of their bunks.

So, I was gentle about it when I needed to explain to Anna that it would be ideal

for her to ask for tape rather than to glue things to the furniture.

Good night, my silly girls.

.

The Messi Life

"Messi--Greek for 'Middle.' Born as the middle child-- and one for whom peace and harmony are paramount--I often find myself 'in the middle' of of my family and friends, sifting through the richness of my Catholic faith, politically moderate and in the middle of five books and three projects at once. I have also spent 36 years learning the hard way that the Truth is often in the middle, and that sometimes a 'mess' can be a beautiful thing."  This is from my sister's new blog -- you've GOT to check it out  .  .  .  see link in my right margin, just over there and a short scroll down  .  .  .




  

Remembering The Words

The lovely girl in the middle is my niece, Kaelyn Garard -- one of six of the newest members of the Delta Delta Pi sorority at Eureka College.  She "went over" late Thursday night, and her step mom, my dear bio sis and sorority sis (Remy), and I took a trip down memory bliss.  We attended and participated in the beautiful, church-housed, scripture-and-literature-derived 100-year-old ceremony. 

The night was beautiful.  Fun.  And boy are we old.  The ladies leading the ritual were children, so it seemed, and during the pre-event garb-changing for proper DDP activation attire left Rem and I realizing that um, well, some of the girls' retinas may be permanently scarred by our presence. 

Almost 20 years since my own activation, we drove through campus, and looking past the lamp-lit sidewalk and across the dark lawn to the windows of Davidson Hall, I was 19, again.  Instantly.  And completely.  Trekking back from the library or an art opening or dinner at the Commons, this scene had been home -- a beloved home -- for four years that passed oh, too quickly. 

We were there that night for the next generation, and I can not believe it.  Se-ri-ous-ly.  (Sigh of nostalgia.) 

Kaelyn was ecstatic and giddy over earning her letters and pleased that Rem and I made the effort to be present with her.  I believe it did as much good, if not more, for my own heart.  It's a local sorority, and long-standing at that -- a century on that one college campus.  Nominal dues cover the few costs, and the focus is the local tradition and Eureka history.  Eureka, all Eureka, and nothing but Eureka.  The minutes from the first meeting of May 1910 are in the hands of the current active chapter, and all decisions and the preservation of motto in action -- "Power Through Service" are maintained authentically and without a corporate anything.  It's beautiful, quite frankly.  First from our family -- (Great Aunt) Jo Lynn Finch, then her daughter, (Dad's cousin) Mary Finch, then Rem and I, and now, the fourth generation claiming as home base the historic organization.  Campus fun, and for the years to follow, memories silly and endearing.

And we need that when we are the mother of the house, and the teacher of the class, and we no longer live our days directly alongside our sister-friends. 

No more do I sit in H.S. Anatomy and Trig with Va, Kara, and Ann.  It's been twenty years since morning studies were followed with a shared lunch of apple turnovers (extra thick shmear of frosting) and Diet Dr Pepper.  We sweat and complain and work at Aquin High School sports' practices only in our own folklore.

The days of living down the hall from Karen in the Pi house, and together going to Western Civ, and lunch at the one, centralized dining hall, and shopping for donuts at IGA at midnight are past. 

To reach our sisters, now, we have to wait for end-of-the eve, kids-are-in-bed quiet time.  We Face book.  Email.  And in rare, blessed occasions speak live.  Or have a much-anticipated face-to-face visit of laughing, talking, eating, crying, eating, laughing.  Remembering who we are.  

"A friend is someone who knows the song of your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."  (source unknown?)  On Kaelyn's activation night, the sister I've had since the time I was 17 months old sang my song back to me.  We chuckled and snort-laughed and in one moment almost tinkled.  We philosophized.  We ate far too many refined carbs.  We traveled together to and in our Eureka home and sang and prayed in a way we'd not done since our college graduations a decade and a half ago.  A ceremony never to be found immortalized in the sorority scrapbooks, as it is a precious event experienced only in real time.  No cameras.  No cell phones.  No texting.  No Yahoo or Google. 

In that moment time does not exist. 

We were blessed to have that moment, and, in the wisdom of our older age, be entirely present. 

"To live content with small means .  .  ."    [My Symphony  (William Henry Channing) ] 

Say Cheese!

Twice in my life I've indulged in some fabulous local photography -- right after Baylor was born (preschooler Hunter with wrinkly new sister) and now, with our complete family with all four kiddos.  In the years between we've done an avalanche of stop-&-shop portraits and endless snapshots, but when I want something particularly cool, we go to Mark Woods (Clinton, IL).  I think you'll see why  .  .  .  bragging on the composition and his magic touch, not on the subjects per se  .  .  .  and, yes, I got permission to post the images, and no, it's not a paid advertisement  .  .  . 

Mark did a particularly nice job bringing out the relaxed, glowing Anna; flashing-smile Jameson; and humorous, happy Hunter.  (Bay is always ready to ham it up.) 

Yes, Chad has a tattoo.  Inside the heart is "Haiti." 

Across the top, "Espwa," and bottom "Fanmi" --  Haitian Kreyol for "Hope" and "Family."

Seriously, not gettin' a dime, here, folks -- just passing along what I think is fabulous: 

Mark Gregor Woods, Master Photographer

824 N. Center; Clinton, IL 61727

217-935-5527

http://www.woodsstudio.com/

 

Help A Low-techie-No-techie

Okay, so you've probably noticed that I've pointed-and-clicked successfully enough to give my blog site a new look, but for the life of me I can NOT figure out how to change the font color of the "comments" left by reader-friends  .  .  .  anybody?  I went into the "design" section and clicked on "advanced" (yeah, kinda dangerous turf for me), and I managed to change font styles, sizes, and colors for lots of things but can't find how to fix up that color for da comments.  ???

A Common Enemy

The latest round of R2D2 Sorry game ended with lively bickering between Anna, Jameson, & Baylor. So, I did what a lot of amazing moms do -- give the first random response that comes to mind . . . to your bedrooms until you're ready to apologize to each other. Yeah, it was a real stroke of brilliance. Totally, like I could have just said, "I don't know what to do, so, go where you can't see my confusion."

And by luck, by blessing, by the alignment of stars and planets, I realized that meant both girls boxed up in their tiny shared space -- t o g e t h e r.  It had occurred to me weeks ago that what the girls might just need is a circumstance in which they have to team up to defeat a common enemy -- likely me or Chad. Just like pledging -- the actives of the sorority feign distance from and disdain for the pledges, forcing the new "sisters" to work together. But, I just couldn't make up a nonsensical and undeserved negative environment . . . so, it had remained a vague notion in the cobwebs of my mind.

And then, whammo, some guardian angel had had enough of my idiot brain and waved their magic wand or sprinkled heaven dust or whatever, and my calm, appropriately healthy reaction to their misbehavior put them together into the snake pit.

When Anna started to walk out of their room with a cross look on her face and less-than-warm words coming from her mouth toward Bay, I turned her right back around. And then, later, when she came downstairs to the kitchen with humility on her face and a tone of inquiry said, "I'm ready," then I responded with "Okay, then, go on up and apologize to your sister, and once you've both done that, come see me together."

THAT was the moment truly gifted to me from somewhere outside of myself. I am so disjointed in the head and upside down right now -- can't seem to get much done in this strange "spring" break. But there it was. I had unwittingly (I know, I over use that word, but it works here) made their escape from banishment one of interdependence. They now NEEDED each other to get out of Azkaban.

Minutes later down they walked, step by step, across the family room to me. With smiles. Bay expounded in her pleased and important style that she had told Anna about all the difficult things in her life (extended family members lost to death or divorce, a friend who had moved out of state, etc.), and Anna smiled proudly, "I am the one who got her talking. I said, 'Come one, come on.' She had a thing over her head and was crying.  Then she talked."  Smiles and smiles and smiles.

High fives and then big tens [smack -- smack -- smack -- smack] for both girls. Booyah!

Ahhhhhhmennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn (chorus of angels)

The $1,700 Day

Yowza!  Well, it WAS just another March day  .  .  .  spring break, getting some things done, feeling funky about having too much to do, but appreciating the sunshine (finally!) .  .  .  Dog to the vet, family to the photographer, taxes figured up and paid, and (nice, but very reasonably-priced) bikes for Anna and Jameson.  I'm sure there's a Murphy's Law that speaks to the fact that the two FUN items in the list are, of course, the ones with the lowest sticker prices (by FAR).  It's always those unexpected "gotta take care o' business" stuffs that sock it to us.  Wow.  It's been quite a day.  In the depths of my 4-year-old "spring," plaid purse rests nervously a much-violated wallet (synthetic, Target, $12, four months ago).  Poor thing. 

We're planning to take the kids to a movie tomorrow for the first time since our two newest youngin's came home to us.  Matinee.  Definitely.  And burrowed next to the now-shy wallet will be four baggies of free candies from our own kitchen cupboard.  Shhh!

Don't get me wrong, we're some darn lucky folks -- two full-time jobs in areas of our professional training when so many other people are without gainful employment.  I mean, the kids DID get bikes (and helmets), and we ARE going to a movie.  So no, no, I am not complaining, just sharin' some sticker shock, reality check, and the need to conjure forth my frugal roots, once again. 

Last week Anna proclaimed that she'd like to go somewhere for spring break -- apparently hearing classmates at school talk about their own up & coming travel plans -- to which I replied teasingly, "Oh, honey, we're teachers.  We go to Wal-mart for spring break." 

We laughed. 

And we are having our own fun; yes, right here in Central Illinois.  In fact, mostly in our own back yard, and front yard, and sidewalk up and down our street  .  .  .

The joy of jellybeans  .  .  .  that Anna and Jameson earned from us (Del's on Merchant!)

for having to get shots and a blood draw.  (And they both offered some of the sweets to Hunter and Bay who remember all too well all the "Haiti trip shots" they endured a few years ago -- with the promise of snow cones awaiting them back then, when their needles were done. 

Shots suck.  There's just no way around that.)

Oops!  The remote control airplane went over the fence.

My Irish son?

Goobers.

Slumber party in the boys' playroom,

and in the living room.

The very best things are always free.

In The Interim

Well, it's a cold, clowdy March day.  Okay already, so all those people who don't have March birthdays -- normal people who see the third month for what it is, I concede.  It's a tease.  And too often, a let-down, meteorologically (looked it up -- it's actually a word -- I know, I'm pleased, too).  So, we have to make our own sunshine, and for me, these moments more than suffice  .  .  .

Two Sundays ago was kids' Mardi Gras in the church hall, and it's always great fun to watch the kids play at random around the room of Ring Toss, Marble Shoot, Checkers or Chess, Nerf Bowling and gobble down cotton candy or popcorn-candy-pretzels mix of delicous sugaryness (does not appear to be a real word) and get faces painted or balloons twisted into animal shapes -- all for a few coins.  One bag of quarters makes them feel like they're livin' high on the hog for an hour and a half.

The money raised in this pre-Lent gluttony all goes to a worthy cause.  Last year, the funds went to Jamie and Ali McMutrie's Haitian Orphan Rescue -- see their web link at the top of my left margin on this blog page, and this year, 2 goats will be purchased through Heifer International to provide economic opportunity for families in need.  As a visual aid (the teacher in me loves it), there were two baby goats present at the party -- in a large, octagonal baby gate arena atop taped-down slabs of cardboard.  Hand gel for before and after petting them.  Very cute.  They got ticked at something toward the end of the festivities -- lots of loud baa-ing.  Lots.  At the climax of the party, candy was strewn from a pinata (that resembled nothing like a goat; so, that wasn't the issue), and kids scrambled for the glorious wrapped confections, parents gathered coats, and our beloved Sunday school leader called out on the microphone for people to take home the extra cookies.  "Baa, Baaaa, BAAAAAAAA" from the open-top plastic jail in the corner.  Can anyone say "Prairie Home Companion?"

Anna continues indulging in her party mix at home.

Bay insisted we take photos of her face paint so as to preserve it eternally -- quite forelorn was she to realize it had to be washed off before bedtime.

Eee, quite a mugshot.

Star Wars Battle Royale on another day  .  .  .

Little Figure Guy Battle d' Some Sort with Cluver cousins Hagen & Brooks

 at R. Cluver's house for little Lilah's birthday.

Big 'Cuz Anna helping birthday girl, Lilah

The Gals -- Anna, Lilah, Bay, & Allie

Tinkerlilah, and her hot mom -- the "other" S. A. Cluver. 

Yes, you're welcome, Steph.  Tee hee. 

 

The Crew lookin' like a death squad.  Do you see the crazy in Baylor's eyes. 

Really, where is the holy water when you need it?

And there ain't nobody who can "diva" with a plastic bullet blaster like Miss Anna. 

Brooks is business -- double-finger-guns AND a backwards ball cap.

Then, Monday the14th, we're running tight enough on time that I can't torture with multiple shots

and my usual, "Cooperate or this will never end."  Fed up immediately with Mom's camera,

they gave me these looks for their before-court poses.  I warned them fair and square,

"Alright, you'll look like goobers on the blog."  Warning given.

No, it's not yet a finalized adoption -- still more procedure to go, but it was a formal step -- "Interim Order of Adoption" granting legal custody, and thus, starting the 2-year clock toward citizenship.  Hunter thought it was crazy sweet that we had a lawyer.  And that we were in a courtroom.  With a judge.  And Mom had to take the stand and talk in a microphone.  Yeah, just like tv, except it wasn't.  At all.

Everybody liked what followed -- "Noodles & Co." pasta shop for lunch!

And the second half of "G-Force" on the mini-van DVD system for the 45-minute ride home.

Home.  Ahhh  .  .  . 

And a 4 o'clock visit from "David" of the Children's Village in NY who is contracted to oversee the children's well-being during this phase of custody prior to adoption.  Off the plane, drive to Forsyth, visit and notes, back onto the plane.  He'll return in May.

And so, we move into the evening -- the girls watching a movie together [ :) ], Jameson driving Mariokart on the wii (yes, A G A I N), then off to soccer for Hunter followed by a drop-off off at a friends' for a sleep-over, and then back home for some Mommy-Anna reading time.

This spring break thus far hasn't been much "spring," and in some ways not much of a "break."  But life is good.  Quite, quite good. 

(Even if a freshly-ground, devilish bag of dark chocolate decaf coffee stares at me, untouched  .  .  .  waiting for Easter -- the end of Lenten sacrifice.  Can you imagine if I was accustomed to "leaded," and was doing caffeine withdrawal?  It's rough enough giving up the rich, sweet taste of lattes  .  .  .  with that bold flavor  .  .  . oh, I best stop now  .  .  .  Is it cheating to pop open the bag to inhale the aroma?)

(You're imagining my nose rimmed with coffee grounds, aren't you?)



Staying Close, Offering Connection, Finding My Footing, & Scrapping a New Kind of Book

In the stressful lull during which we worked and waited for the kids' release to our family, I created this blog.  My purpose was simply to have in place a way for grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends to feel close to us and to the kids, even when we might need calm, quiet, private time at home for just the six of us.  I'd so enjoyed the blogs of a few fellow "BRESMA families," and their pictures and descriptions made me feel such a part of their lives.  I believed a blog of my own might fill graciously what otherwise could have been a void for our loved ones. 

And then, I realized that some of the kids' cousins and mates from BRESMA who came to the US with them and had already gone home to families, as well as Anna and Jameson's Pittsburgh teachers, classmates, and HFI staff and volunteers have checked in here to keep up with the kiddos, too.

Pleasantly surprised by the connections we've created and maintained here, I'll keep it going.

So much reading and training, so many webinars and conference calls  .  .  .  and I relished the occasional moments when an adoptive parent did the rare, brave thing -- let their hair down to reveal their struggles.  In their offering of humility and vulnerability, and I felt "let in."  I felt connected.  I needed that.  We all do.  That connection of humanity.  Validation.  Feeling not alone.  And so, I decided that I would be honest in my blog posts.  Sparing, of course, other people's dirty laundry, but telling my part of my story truthfully -- to put myself out there in case it helps anyone.  Even a little.  I believe that it is in the nuance of our struggles where lies beauty.  And triumph.  Meaningful growth.

To be submerged in "the adoption process" 24/7, parenting new children and "old" children side-by-side while continuing to navigate legal procedures for finalizing and eventual citizenship is a whirlwind.  One of several things I do to keep a foot on the ground is writing.  Documenting our "current status" on this site keeps the forest in view for me as I continue tending to the individual seedlings. 

An unexpected gift that I realized just last week is that I have unwittingly created a new kind of scrapbook -- one with some images and a whole lot of journaled text that I will print off and get bound for the children.

To all of you, my small band of lovely readers (hi, Mom!) much gratitude for humoring me along our journey.  It's good to have travel mates  .  .  . 

Please, use the comments tab liberally -- share your 2 cents -- I get tired of just my own blabbering.  Reading your musings would be lovely.

Lecture Series

Driving home this evening from Ash Wednesday mass with Haitian Konpa caressing over the mini-van speakers, I hear just odd bits and ends from the back seat where sits Baylor and Jameson.  Hunter is chillin' to the tunes while Anna goes on her own lyrical tangent with impromptu and quiet rehearsal of the 5th grade "Snow White" song (spring concert), but Jameson is trapped in the back with the family talker and an Abraham Lincoln biography (book for young readers).  Oh, boy, what he must be processing after attending our Catholic kick-off to Lent with altar statues all draped in dark purple fabric and having ashes smeared into a cross on his forehead only to then have his new and excessively lingual sister give him a dissertation the entire dark ride home.  It began with something "Willie and Tad  .  .  .  and Robert was the oldest," and at some point moved on to "Obama," and eventually "She could have been the first girl president."  You know, because apparently there can't be a discussion of Lincoln by a 2nd grader without expounding upon slavery, civil rights, and, therefore, the issues of race and gender equity. 

Well, the wee girl is now in bed (early -- due to being unpleasantly lingual with her mother this morning before school), and so, now free from the girl's clutches, Jameson and his brother are engaged in a riveting round of Mariokart on the Wii.

Never Mind

The sweetest thing that gives both Chad and I pause -- to really stop and look into the child's eyes and encourage him to "go ahead" and share -- is when Jameson says, "Never mind."  Every once in awhile he'll begin to say something, then stop himself, "No.  Never mind."  Like when he wanted to ask for a second dsi game, but knew it was more than he should ask for, but he REALLY wanted it, but he knew the game system and first game were already expensive, but it was so exciting to have a dsi and there were shelves of games at the store  .  .  .  he began to ask, then stopped himself, "No.  Never mind."  Or whenever he has vulnerable feelings he wants to tell, but needs a little extra courage to divulge fully,  "No.  Never mind."  If we see seriousness about him, we always "mind," and stop whatever we're doing to get at eye-level, to draw nearer, and to give him our own "no" -- "No.  It's okay.  You can tell us."  And he does.  And over him sweeps relief and comfort.

Then, there are times he doesn't hesitate at all with communication, such as when he clarified to me at Target today that he "did not ask for two rices."  It was the first time he'd been grocery shopping with me since I've returned to work, which means ONE store trip for everything we need for the week, and that means a very full cart.  His eyes got bigger and bigger.   When I asked him to pick out which flavor of precooked, microwave-ready rice he wanted, he declined.  I encouraged him to help me by letting me know what he preferred for this week, and he made a selection.  When I picked up more than one bag of what he'd chosen, however, he grew concerned.  I reassured that really, it IS okay, at which point he covered his eyes and in his comedic voice declared, "I can't watch."  I hadn't ever before had to reassure children that I pay the bills every weekend, always know how much money we have, and never spend more than we should.  He shook his head at the load I pushed toward the check-out.

Pause in thought. 

Still pausing.

Humbling, huh?

I know I've written about it before, but gosh, I've got to say it, again -- how completely amazing it is to me that Jameson and Hunter are brothers in every sense .  .  .  after just 2 months!  They've got that look-each-other-in-the-eye and get-each-other thing going on, and laughter about things I don't understand, and bickering, and playfulness, and helping one another. 

The girls have made BIG strides this week  .  .  .  with the help of some eves of being sent to bed early and a few sessions of stern clarifications from Mom and/or Dad  .  .  .  Today, we're seeing pay-off!  One child of the feminine type is approaching both interactions with sibs and requests from Mom and Dad more graciously, more agreeably -- far less in the way of protest and sass.  And the other gal exhibits more pep and smiles, an up-tick in helping herself with simple tasks (turning on the shower, cleaning up messes), fewer pouts, and less whining.  Then, between them, interaction continues to increase slowly, but steadily.  Even when very tired (and when irritability is usually high), they relaxed together, taking turns playing games on Dad's lap top.

Anna still delights in her new wardrobe and has begun to enjoy trying out some of her early spring pick-ups from our frugalista shopping excursions.  There just really isn't anything that doesn't look good on her -- lucky lady!

In case you're wondering (new topic), my first week back at the reigns of my classroom went very well; very well, indeed.  The outlet for academic thought and creative planning was welcome, as was the bantering with many wonderful students who I had missed.  The gradual transition for our four children at home was wise, as they were in their routine for me, and things went pretty smoothly.  The only real complaint is that which plagues us all -- just not enough hours in the day.  Setting my head upon my pillow at 10:00 or 11:00 at night, I realize I won't have reading time, or quiet thinking time, or getting something done from my home desk accomplished, or a personal phone call made until after 8:00 pm the next eve.  Honestly, THAT is what I like about summer -- open evenings, because there need not be a rat race for all to get to bed.  More time to begin projects and complete tasks, and to breathe and to create, and to connect with friends. 

Having time outside of my home, however, has provided just enough distance so as to have a bit more objective perspective on the on-goings inside our home and family.  And on this 2-month anniversary of the kids' release to our family, how do things look? 

Awfully normal. 

That's saying a lot.

Babies

Recommended to me by one of my students, and then purchased for my Sociology class, the documentary "Babies" is for anyone even a little interested in cultures or a tad bit intrigued by tiny human lifeforms.  It's a quick-moving, beautiful, intriguing, endearing, funny film  .  .  .  Peacefully playful music and wonderful contextual scenery surround four global age-mates in Mongolia, USA, Namibia, and Japan "from first breath to first steps." 

My two daughters (2nd & 5th grades) watched it with me last night, and Bay (the little one) is viewing for a second round at this very moment.  Now, I should put out there one caveat, that you need to consider your family's comfort level regarding which topics at which ages.  A couple of the births are shown, but tastefully, and there is a lot of breastfeeding. 

"Babies," by Alain Chabat -- Universal; 2010

BEAUTIFUL!