I am thankful for David

You want to know what was infinitely more surprising than Mary's brown eyes?

 David's personality.

Let me tell you a little about our parent-teacher conference in October.  David is exactly where he should be in reading.  (We can see that he's been bit by the reading bug, and the world of words has opened for him.  He sounds out the words in his Lego magazines, on the back of the cereal box, even in the Book of Mormon.)  His writing is perfectly acceptable for a first-grader, even above average, and it's becoming less and less laborious.  He has a good, solid, intuitive sense with numbers.  His teacher was impressed with how fast he picked up subtraction.  All of this was good to hear.  And reassuring.

But do you want to know what was the very best part?  When David's teacher mentioned sincerely (as opposed to a I'm-desparately-trying-to-find-something-positive-about-your-kid way): "David is a very good friend.  He is helpful.  For example, if someone drops something, he's quick to pick it up.  Everyone likes him."

Is that not the best thing you could hear about your kid???

My heart was soaring!  We have the likable kid!  Not the coolest kid.  Or the smartest.  Or the sportiest.  But the naturally friendly kid?   He's ours!  WE HAVE THE LIKABLE KID.  Me!!  And Greg!!!  How did this happen???  How is it possible???  Do you know us?!  Do you know how crazy it is that we have such a socially well-adjusted child?  If you don't know us, let me paint you a picture:  Greg and I were both the uptight, overachieving, quiet, insecure, beloved-by-the teacher kid in your class.

David is clearly a miracle.

Now, don't worry.  Seeing my kids through only rose-colored glasses is not a problem for me.  In fact, sometimes I tend to be hyper-aware of their challenges and weaknesses.  So allow me this moment to brag.  Because, honestly, there are days when I feel like there is not a lot to brag about.

This school year I am frequently paralyzed and panicked about David.  The academic routines of early elementary school don't come naturally for him.  So the schoolwork feels hard and uncomfortable to him.  In addition, David isn't Mr. Athlete. Or Mr. Artist.  And he knows it.  (Oh the whining!)  So I worry.

One week earlier in the fall, I was especially bogged down by my worries.  David had of late been lamenting that he wasn't good at anything.  And I kept finding myself at a loss for just the right words.  I tried to be reassuring.  But it's not like I could tell him he was the star of his soccer team.  He's old enough and bright enough to see the truth of the matter.  So my heart hurt.  Somehow it's not very comforting when your mom tells you it's okay to be average.  Why couldn't I articulate his strengths to him?  Or even to myself?

Then one day I had one of the those wonderful, motherhood epiphanies.  I was talking to a friend of mine, and she mentioned how much she enjoyed running into David at the school when she was volunteering there because he always said hello to her with a big smile on his face.  I thought about that for a while.  And then it hit me.

David is a bucket filler!

My mom should be smiling right now.  A quick explanation.  When we were living with my mom, Mary fell in love with this book.  And my mom had to read it to her several times a day for nearly a year straight.  It's a very odd book for a two-year-old to love.  It's the kind of book a principal would read to her students.  (Like, for example, how David's principal did last year in his kindergarten class.)  The point is that we should be kind and nice and lift others up, and, by making others happy, we become happy too.  It has a good message.

And it describes how David is naturally.

That night I told David he is a bucket-filler.  I told him how happy he makes Mrs. J just by saying hello with a big smile.  I pointed out how he was quick to be friends with the new kids in his class.  I told him that almost all of the kids in his class have asked me if they can come over for a play date with David--they all like him.  I reminded him of how he goes out of his way to say hello and good-bye to people he knows.  I reminded him of how he always says hello to a little boy in his Primary class who has a hard time at church.  I recounted how his teacher had told us that he is quick to help other children at school.  I named people he had been kind to--and there were a lot of names.  I reminded him of how loyal he is--he always stands up for his friends.  I explained that he makes people feel good.

I told David he is very, very good at being a bucket-filler.

Because he is.

And I told him that is the most important thing in the whole world to be good at.

Because it is.

Speaking of the technologically challenged...

I love Chrome.  I have been using it since the day it first became available.  All other browsers make me itch.

But Chrome has not been working on my computer lately.  (Why?!!  Chrome is like the love of my life.  I feel betrayed.)  So I have been forced to use Explorer.  I may need a cortisone shot to stop the itching.

When I post using Explorer, I post as "Greg."  This is a complete mystery and shock to me.  I have no idea why Greg's name is connected to my blog at all.  I thought I was the only person who could post on my blog.  And I have no idea what Explorer has to do with any of this.  I am sure there is a simple, easily-corrected explanation for all of this.  And I will get to it, eventually.  It's about 179th on my to-do list.

In the meantime, know that it's always me, Alisa, here.  Ignore Greg.  He's not here.  Greg doesn't touch my blog.  (He did once, and it caused a bigger blow-up than the Great Excel Address Book Debacle of 2002-2009.  Trust me, he doesn't touch my blog.  But he loves me!!)

Thanks for your patience, and have a good day.

Posted by ALISA.

Whoops

Oops.  I guess you weren't supposed to know about my dad's posts about their trip.  If you peeked, you could see that the record is still under construction and not intended for readers yet.

Yes, there are people even less savvy with technology than I: They are my parents.  Apparently, my dad knows nothing of RSS feeds, Google Reader, or what happens when you press Blogger's Publish button instead of the Save button.

Sorry, Dad.  (I really did think we could all see your work in progress.  Reason #218 why I won't win Daughter of the Year either.)

I am thankful for Mary

I am thankful for Mary.

Mary loves her friends.  

Based on a sample of two (David and Mary), I am now going to make a generalization that applies to all children.   (Because that's what we moms do.)  At age 2, we parents want our children to have friends, but, really, they couldn't care less.  But that's okay because we moms need to be friends with other moms.  Who cares about our kids.  When they are 3, our children desperately want to have friends, but they're really bad at it.  They pretty much need an adult or older child around to give direction.  So play dates are possible, but possibly painful.  But by 4, friends really do start to matter.  And our kids are getting the hang of it.  (By 5 or 6, kids are pros at playing together, and I base this, of course, on my wide expansive experience of one child this age.)

Mary is 4.  She loves a good play date, and she's quite good at it.  Hallelujah!!!  Despite being bright and fun and talented and lovely, Mary is self-conscious, and I sense that she lucked out (not) with the insecurity gene.  So I love to see her build genuine friendships.  To relinquish the control she wants to have on the universe in the give-and-take of imaginative play.  To respond warmly to gestures of friendship.  To be herself, to be uninhibited with close friends.  Friendships are important.  I am thankful Mary is learning to build them.




Mary bravely gave up her binkie.


Yes, this was a recent occurrence.  Now you have reason # 218 of why I won't win Mom of the Year.  In my defense, it seems perfectly reasonable to have a one-year-old who enjoys a good binkie.  And I certainly wasn't going to take it away when Mary was two.  That was the year Greg was gone.  I myself considered taking up the binkie that year.  We weakly tried taking it away when she was three.  But she would start sucking her thumb!  Which she'd never done before.  I certainly didn't have two million binkies in my house along with two million pictures of Mary with a binkie plugged in only to have her switch to the thumb at age three!!  She played us good--the thumb freaked us out and we backed down.  (But we did place more and more limits on her binkie.  First it was only in the car and in her room, then only in her room, and finally only in her bed.)

Finally, a few weeks after she turned four (yes, I had a four-year-old still addicted to her binkie--feel good about yourself, that's why I'm here), we took it away.  We did it because she was going to the dentist, and I had to be able to say that she no longer had a binkie.  (I have to maintain some shred of decency in this community.)  It was really, really heartbreaking for a couple of days.  But she got over it.  And she did not rediscover her thumb.  Phew.

I am thankful that Mary gave up her binkie because now I have one less deep dark shameful parenting secret to hide.




Mary skips along.

Mary often skips when she walks.  And sings.  She also loves to dance.  She'll turn on Pandora on the computer and dance away.  When I'm walking down the sidewalk, and Mary is holding my hand and skipping along and singing a song, well, I just feel so thankful to have a daughter.




Mary takes care of Hello Kitty.


Mary has a bear.  She built this bear on her birthday.  She named this bear Hello Kitty.  And she finds nothing odd about that fact.  She lovingly cares for Hello Kitty, changing her clothes, feeding her marshmallows, tucking her into bed, bringing her to the playground.

Mary can play imaginatively with her toys now.  She sets up her dollhouse, playing out elaborate family dramas.  She can disappear into her room for an hour at a time to play with her princesses or baby dolls.  She and her friends will dress up like fairies, fly around the house on brooms like witches, and cook fancy meals with plastic and wood.

I am so, so, so thankful when my kids develop the ability to play.  Really play, like Mary can now.




Mary loves clothes.


Mary loves clothes.  She digs around in her closet for all kinds of fashion treasures.  She will squeeze herself into last summer's tank tops or drown herself in next year's dresses.  She changes her clothes several times a day.  We never know what she's going to be wearing when she emerges from her bedroom.

Mary especially loves new clothes.  She is great fun to take shopping because she likes the dressing room.  (What child LIKES the dressing room?)  She'll express thoughtful opinions about what I'm shopping for.  But, of course, she likes it even more when we're browsing or shopping for her.  (I have to be careful--she can be quite persuasive.)  I am thankful to have a fun shopping companion.







Mary works hard.


Mary is a determined little girl.

Right now she is working hard at learning to write.  She constantly begs for new words to write.  And she will fill pages and pages (and pages and pages!) with "Mary" and "Mom" and "Cat" and "Dad" and "Mat" and "Mit" and whatever she might copy from an old magazine.

She is also determined to learn to read.  I'm not sure she was quite ready, but after watching David figure it out, she insisted on trying too.  And she's doing it!  She will practice and practice--and she's reading simple books now.  (And actually reading them--they're not just memorized.)  I owe it to her brute determination.

Mary practices.  Over and over.  Whatever it is.  Writing, reading, counting, tying, brushing, leaping, singing, drawing, cutting, folding, dancing, sorting, matching.  I love to watch her work.  She concentrates.  She does not give up.  She enjoys a challenge, and she has confidence that she can accomplish a difficult task.

I am thankful for Mary because she teaches me that hard work is beautiful.



Oh, Mary.  I am thankful for your beautiful brown eyes.  I never imagined that I would have a child with brown eyes.  Until God gave me a glimpse of you, before you were born.  And I fell in love with your brown eyes.  They remind me that you are not me.  You are a separate, determined individual.  I cannot bully or boss you into being just so.  (But you need to learn that you can't bully and boss the universe into being just so.)

You are strong.  But you don't always have to be so strong.  I can comfort you.  Let me hold you close and protect you, even from yourself.  I love you.  And I am thankful for you.

Thankful

I am thankful for my children.  And before this month of Thanksgiving is up, I am determined to write updates about my two kiddos.  It seems like it's time.  And my heart is full of gratitude for them.

In the meantime, here are some pictures of our Wednesday morning trip to the Children's Museum. We had a wonderful time. David and Mary were well-behaved, and they were patient as they took turns choosing what activity was next. 

We could have spent another hour or two at the museum, but we had a lunch date with Daddy on State Street.  Greg walked over from campus, and we walked over from the far side of the Capitol, and we met in the middle for noodles.  The kids loved seeing their dad.  He is very busy, but we get to see a lot of him nevertheless.  And for that I am very thankful.



This is David and Mary after Greg said good-bye.  They are watching him from the window while he waits for a bus.

They love their daddy.



Speaking of daddies, my dad is busy posting about his trip with my mom to Germany and Switzerland.  I am definitely my parent's daughter.  My mom picks exactly the same kind of hotels as me!  And my dad is like me--he finds suburban housing, indoor plumbing, and contintental breakfast just as interesting as Baroque cathedrals. 

Thanksgiving

What a happy Thanksgiving we enjoyed!

We didn't travel, and we didn't host.  That makes for a very relaxing day.  I am always happy to jump in the car and travel on Thanksgiving weekend.  And we love having visitors, as well as inviting folks over to share a meal.  So I'm on board with the busy-ness of Thanksgiving.

But when Greg realized he had too much schoolwork for us to travel, and when local friends invited us to share Thanksgiving at their house . . .

I breathed a sigh of relief.  Is that okay?  To be thankful for an easy Thanksgiving?  Because it all made for a very nice day.

-----

Greg ran a 10K. We all went to cheer him on. 

It was cold.  So we camped out in a corner of the heated registration tent while we waited for the race to start.

I know my children are several years too old for a stroller.  But, boy, it sure came in handy (as it has for races in times past).

And they're off!

We waited at the finish line.  Fortunately, Greg does his family a favor and runs fast so we don't have to wait too long.

And here's the fabulous picture I took of Greg crossing the finish line . . .

Or not.  I managed to get neither Greg or his time in the picture.  But he really is there.  (The clock with 28:00 is for the 5K runners.  Greg ran fast, but not 28 minutes fast!)

Here he is, just after finishing. 

Hooray for Daddy!  (And thank you for your 6:59 mile pace.  We may not have survived much longer.)  We love you!

-----

After the race, with little to do (what a good feeling), we decided to go ahead and set up the Christmas tree.  I am a firm believer in waiting until the day after Thanksgiving to pull out the Christmas decorations and turn on the Christmas music.  But we decided to make an exception this year.  So we got to work.

And while most people would indeed listen to Christmas music while setting up the tree, we live in Wisconsin now.  So we listened to the Packers game.  (Notice it on the computer.)

Then we trimmed the tree.

With Lego Star Wars guys, of course.

The kids loved hanging the ornaments.  Each one was a treasure.  (And I really let them decorate the tree, while I sat on the sofa.  Breathing deeply.  I'm allowed to make adjustments when they're asleep, right?)

Love these kids!

-----

Later that afternoon we pulled Greg's potato casserole from the oven and headed over to our friends' home for a delicious meal, a lovely atmosphere, and good company.  (Seriously, it was so yummy!!  These people can cook!  And the table was beautiful!  And it was so fun to be there!  And our other friends who have twin baby boys were there too, so there were plenty of adorable little babies to pass around.  What a perfect Thanksgiving!  Thank you, Rachel D. and family.)

-----

Then we came home and watched Elf until our drooping eyelids were just too heavy.

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This year I am thankful for Thanksgiving!

Grouchy

Yesterday I went to the DMV.  I thought I would be responsible and get a Wisconsin driver's license, since I've lived here almost a year and a half and everything.  Plus, my old Ohio one is expired (remember that?).

When I looked at the DMV website to find out what I needed to get a driver's license, I learned that I needed only proof of residency and an out-of-state license that was no more than 8 years expired.  So, actually, I still had 7 years and 293 days to procrastinate until I was really in trouble.  But I was feeling all responsible, so I skipped the gym and headed straight to the DMV.

I've lived in enough states to know that when you go to a new DMV, it's like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're going to get.  Except that you do know you're not going to get chocolate, which is a bummer.  At this DMV the cherry cordial in my chocolate was that I needed my passport or birth certificate.  Never mind the fact it wasn't mentioned on the website (that I could see).  I drove the 20 minutes home to retrieve my passport (I was not going to give up on being responsible!) and the 20 minutes back to the DMV, all the while trying not to think about how concerned everyone was about where I was born and what my citizenship status was and how little anyone cared if I could actually operate a car safely.

(Now is where I point out that I have never taken a driving test.  I got my first driver's license in Arizona, which required driver's ed OR a driving test.  Not both.  So I took driver's ed, obviously.  I sometimes wonder what the good folks in California, Delaware, Ohio, and now Wisconsin might think about my qualifications for their fine states' issuing me a driver's license based solely on the couple of hours I spent in a teal Pontiac one summer with Deanna and poor Mr. Edwards, whom we tortured relentlessly with our silly giddy fifteen-year-old-ness.)

 When I returned, passport in hand, to the Madison DMV, no body bothered to look at my passport.  Sure, they noticed I had it with me.  But no one bothered to look and see that it was actually mine.  I could have brought Baby David's expired one.

Anyway, my whole point is that the DMV made me grouchy.

And I never let the DMV make me grouchy!  What was wrong with me?!  The employees were perfectly warm and polite, and, except for the passport thing, everything went quite smoothly.  Why did the DMV make me grouchy?  Because I sure spent the rest of the day feeling grumpier and grumpier, until I finally burst into tears after dinner.

I was concerned.

I simply do not let bureaucracy make me grouchy.  I am a military wife.  I have lived in Turkey (the Ottoman Empire pretty much invented red tape).  I have lived in Turkey as a military wife on a Turkish military base.  (That is a triple whammy.)  I have transferred credits from one university to another. (Cringe.)   I have a son who has been on the no-fly list since he was a baby.  I have traveled between countries that don't recognize each other with stacks of papers to get my family in and out.  In the Dominican Republic I negotiated through the twists and turns of a barely-functioning bureaucracy in order to help legally marry people who did not legally exist, all in a language I barely understood.  Also, Tricare is an integral part of my life.  (Shiver.)

A little DMV can't scare me.

I do not let bureaucracy control my emotions.  I may roll my eyes, laugh, or sigh with frustration.  But it does not get inside me, it does not upset me.  (I choose to freak out about other things, like Excel spreadsheets and my kids rolling around on the floors of eating establishments.)  So, naturally, my post-DMV grouchiness made me think maybe I'd lost my edge.  That I was getting soft.

Then last night I collapsed.

I was sick!  The cold I'd been fighting off all week, successfully I had thought, was back with a vengeance.  No wonder I was so grouchy.  I felt like garbage. I was grumpy because I was ill. It was a relief, in a way.  The DMV had not conquered me!

But the common cold has . . . Yuck.



P.S.  I cannot talk today.  I have no voice.  This definitely makes me grouchy.  But my kids love it.

P.P.S.  My parents are in Switzerland.  This does not make me grouchy.  But it does make me a little envious.

P.P.P.S.  I didn't shed a tear giving up my Ohio license, unlike what I predicted.  Because I didn't have to give it up. They just punched a hole in it and handed it back to me.  Easy peasy.  Is that too much to ask, you meanie states who insist on emotionally scarring those of us who NEED to hang on to our old licenses???  (That's right, I'm talking to you, California, Delaware, and Ohio.  Tisk, tisk.)

More boring books

If you read this post and thought, "Holy Toledo--the books those people read could not be any more boring," surprise, you were wrong.  (Watch out, Dave and Brandi.)

Today I looked over at Greg's nightstand and saw:

For real?!!  A big fat book called Bureaucracy?!

For real.

(And for those of you curious about what exciting tome is awaiting Greg beneath the beauracray behemoth...it's a DeLillo novel. I'm not kidding. White Noise, to be exact.  What the heck?   I thought I had the monopoly in this family on reading plotless postmodern lit.  Speaking of boring books and plotless postmodernity, the most boring book on earth is, not surprisingly, a little specimen of postmodern lit.  Alain Robbe-Grillet's Jealousy.  It will send you running to the 1957 Federal Tax Guide, found here, for relief.  But it's short.  So go for it.  Then you can say you've read the most boring book on earth.)

But, really, I can't talk because I recently finished a big, fat book on the history of the CIA.



 

I'd been toying with the idea of reading a book about the CIA in Afghanistan.  But I decided to go whole hog, at Cyndie's suggestion.  (I'm not the only person who likes boring books!  Cyndie is a Duke Law grad, which is basically special training on how to read boring stuff so the rest of us don't have to.)

 

It was a long book, coming in at 812 pages.

 

 

Fortunately, over 200 of those pages were end notes.  (Unfortunately, I know that the most interesting tidbits in a book are often found in the end notes.)

 

This book is meticulously and thorougly researched.  I cannot fathom the amount of work that went into it.  The book is a bit of a downer (understatement), but fascinating.  I have three things to say.

1. The CIA is so NOT cool or sleek or sexy like you might expect.  Bummer. 
2. The CIA has been (is?) so much scarier and more powerful than you would ever expect.  But not for the cool or sleek or sexy reasons you might imagine.  Double bummer.
3. I served as a missionary in the Dominican Republic.  Sometimes Domincans would call out accusatorily to us Americans, "See-yah!  See-ya,"  meaning "CIA!"  Fellow American missionaries throughout Latin America have similar experiences with the populations being paranoid about the CIA.  I always laughed a little at this, with a condescending attitude.  "Why are these people so paranoid about the CIA?  Oh, how little they understand the world.  Oh, how little they know about America and our goverment."  Um, let's just say that after reading Weiner's book I have eaten some humble pie.  Yes, people on the streets of Santo Domingo knew more about the CIA than I as an American citizen did.  And they have every reason to be paranoid.

While we're on the subject of drunken, self-deluded, power-hungry men (eg. the CIA), let me tell you what book I'm reading right now.

I believe it's my first foray beyond American history since all the Lawrence of Arabia/World War One stuff.  Within the first pages, I was reminded of why I agree with Gail Collins, who, in her acknowedgments in Scorpion Tongues, thanked her ancestors "who thoughtfully left Europe for a land that contained a more manageable amount of political history." 
 
The Wives of Henry VIII is so detailed about whose sixth cousin was the stepmom of the Duke of Wherever back three generations that you very quickly realize what a breeze that AP American History test was.  All the criss-crossing of royal bloodlines and royal influence is a headache.  But soon I realized that I could skip those parts--paragraphs at a time (I am an America, after all, and accordingly don't care much about royal bloodlines)--and still follow the action. 
 
I have found that a lot of pretty dense nonfiction books lose steam towards the end.  Sometimes, with even a very interesting and engaging one, it can feel like a chore to finish the last hundred pages or so.  Not so with this one!  The Wives of Henry VIII starts out slow--because his first marriage did last a couple of decades.  But then it picks up.  Real quick.  Because he starts dropping wives faster than the GOP drops its presidential hopefuls.  You know it's not a good sign when the chapter about his fifth wife has begun--and he hasn't yet married his fourth wife.
 
This is a really fascinating read!  In part because there is so much documentation from the period.  All kinds of people wrote all kinds of stuff down.  There are love letters and confessions and myriad conversations recorded.  Sure, the author has to make a few speculations.  But we really are able to see, based on evidence from the day, the individual personalities of each of these women.  Fraser does a great job of keeping the women and their lives central in the book.  But, of course, along the way you learn about King Henry, European politics at the time, and the religious reformations taking place.
 
In case you're curious, Henry VIII's wives were--
 
Catherine of Aragon
Anne Bolelyn
Jane Seymour
Anna of Cleves
Katherine Howard
Catherine Parr
 
And if you are an English school child, this is how you remember them, with this little poem--
 
Divorced, beheaded, died;
divorced, beheaded, survived.
 
In case good old simple American history is more your thing (and good old-fashioned gruesome American medicine), I would be remiss if I did not recommend this book:
 
 

 

James Garfield won my heart this summer when I read 1861 (still my favorite book of the year--and, bonus, it's not boring).  He is my favorite president, and I don't mean that in a wry, ironic, geeky-cool way.  I mean it for real.  It is so, so sad that he did not survive the bullet wounds from the assassination attempt.  (Garfield, a hard-working, intelligent, thoughtful man who never wanted to be president, was shot by a lunatic bitter that he wasn't made the ambassador to France.  If Garfield had been left alone, he would have survived.  It's the medical care that actually killed him.)  The title, Destiny of the Republic, is about as a generic a title as it gets--but the story is not.  The book is not perfect--the parts about Alexander Graham Bell (yes, he's in here) should be more of a footnote than an integral part of the story.  But it's a good, solid, interesting (and easy) read.
 
 By the way, James Garfield is from Hiram, Ohio which is right near Kirtland.  One time when we were visiting Kirtland, I noticed a sign directing visitors to James Garfield's home.  I laughed and said, "Who would ever want to visit the home of James Garfield?  Who cares about him?"
 
Well, guess what.  I do!  I do! 
 
And that concludes this edition of boring (and not-quite-so-boring) books I have read.  King Henry still has one more wife to go, so I'm off to read.

 

Three thoughts

One

I don't often write these days about how much I desperately, crazily love my children.  I also don't often think about how I want to freeze time and keep them tiny.  Lately I haven't been completely panicked about their growing up.  I think it's simply because I enjoy them more now.  I don't feel desperate, crazy, and panicked.  So I don't feel desperate, crazy, and panicked about them.  No offense to my kids when they were a little (or a lot) shorter, but I like having a first-grader and a four-year-old so much more than having a baby and a toddler or a toddler and a preschooler.  Am I allowed to admit that?  Well, I am.  Because I am who I am.


Two

It's funny how life doesn't always turn out how you would expect.  When I was in my twenties I just assumed there would always be time for life to turn out how I expected/wanted/hoped.  Not that being 34 is old or anything.  But being 34 is old enough to realize that time may actually run out, that mortality isn't infinite.  So if I would like to change the arc of my life, sooner is probably better than later.  Or, if I am at point A and in so many years I would like to be at point H, then it's probably time to figure out what point H is, and what I might need to do to move onto point B.  I also realize that God lets us know what point H is when we're ready.  Age 34 is also old enough to begin accepting that no matter what, no matter how proactive I want to be, aspects of life that I expected/wanted/hoped may not be.  Guess what.  I can't control everything.  But I can put myself in God's arms and trust.


Three

I am affectionate and expressive with my children.  It is very natural for me.  (This is something that surprises me about myself as a mother.  I'm not sure why, but it's a matter I believe best explored with a therapist and not on a blog.  You're welcome.)  But sometimes I lose my patience with my children.  Sometimes I am short with them. I used to think (subconsciously) that if I was very affectionate with them and then at times short-tempered with them that I would confuse them and so I should perhaps hold back on the affection a little until I had mastered patience completely.  Fortunately, one day I consciously realized what my subconscious had been thinking.  And I squashed that stupid thought.  I have not mastered patience--not even close--but I freely and frequently shower my children with affection.  For all of my faults as a mother, I know that my children know that I love them.  That feels good.

A post about adoption

If Greg and I ever die in a plane crash without our kids, then--

WAIT.  When are Greg and I ever EVER on an airplane together without our kids?!  Yes, we've had two romantic getaways sans kids--but I flew ALONE to meet Greg both times.  (By the way, those romantic getaways were to Montgomery, Alabama and Honduras.  What?  You don't think Montgomery is romantic?  Yeah, me neither.  But Honduras is.  Really!)  Okay, since Greg and I would never die in a plane crash together without our kids, perhaps I should say--

If Greg and I should ever simultaneously die of boredom from the books we read (a much more likely scenario), then who would we want to raise our children?

Well, we would want someone just like Dave and Brandi.  And I do not say that lightly.

I stole this picture from Brandi's blog.  It was taken in Istanbul.

Allow me tell you ten things about Dave and Brandi.

1. We know Dave and Brandi from when we lived on an air base near Adana, Turkey.  When you live on an air base near Adana you have two choices:  You can whine and complain and be a bored bump on a log, or you can make the most of it, getting out and having fabulous, once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Dave and Brandi chose the latter.  (Proof here.)  I think that says a lot about them.
2. They make yummy food.  I know this for a fact.
3. Brandi worked on Capitol Hill as a congressional aid for a number of years.  How cool is that?
4. Dave is a doctor.  One evening our little David, who was two at the time, started shrieking in pain when we put on his pajamas.  Panicked and unsure what to do, we called Dave, who came right over and carefully, tenderly, lovingly examined David.  He determined that David probably had a broken wrist, and he immediately made room in his schedule for us to come in for X-rays the following day.  Sure enough, the next morning Dr. Dave looked at the X-rays and found a green stick fracture in David's wrist.  Dr. Dave then arranged for us to see the orthopedic surgeon, walking us through every step in the process.  Dave did not have to do any of that.  But he did.  Because that's who he is--someone who willingly and lovingly serves others.  
5. They play each other in tennis.  And they are competitive about it.  For some reason, I love this about them!  (Perhaps because they are such a devoted, committed couple--so the fact that they are so in love but can also go out and school each other on the court brings a smile to my face.)
6. Dave and Brandi love children.  That's one of the first things I noticed about them.  They enjoy the fun physicality of toddlers.  And I've noticed they have a special gift for connecting with teenagers.  How awesome is that?!
7. Brandi is witty and smart and kind and thoughtful.  Think about that for a second.  It's not really common for someone to have a sharp wit and a kind soul.  Brandi is the kind of friend who is fun and funny.  And she is also compassionate and loving.  And it's all for real.  What always strikes me about Brandi is how REAL she is.  
8. Dave and Brandi are faithful.  They love God: They serve God by serving others.  
9. Okay, so Dave and Brandi are awesome.  Super awesome.  They are super fun and super adventurous and super accomplished and super fit and super talented and super responsible and super kind and super organized and super hard-working and super wise.  Like I said, SUPER AWESOME.  But here is the most awesome thing of all:  When you are with them, you don't feel like they are super awesome.  Let me explain.  You know how there are some people who are amazing and when you are with them all you can think about is their amazingness so you feel about two inches tall the whole time and you can't really be yourself because you're so self-conscious about your un-amazingness?  Well, Dave and Brandi are NOT like that.  They are amazing, but when you are with them, you feel amazing too.  They are humble and real and genuine. 
10. Best of all, Brandi and Dave are the parents of this adorable little guy:

This is Zach.  Don't you want to eat him up?
(This is another pic stolen from Brandi's blog.)

Don't you see why I would want my kids raised in a family like this one?

More stolen pictures. . .

And it just so happens that they are hoping to adopt.  

Zach was a miracle.  Now they are hoping for another.  Brandi and Dave are deeply spiritual, and they have felt God's hand leading them down the path of adoption.  Please read their beautiful words here.  This is a challenging journey for them. But they are strong, and wise, and faithful.  I know that God is a God of miracles, a God of mercy.  He whispers quietly into people's hearts to bring about His miracles, to show His love and mercy.

If you know someone who is pregnant and considering adoption for her baby, may I suggest that you think of introducing her to my friends?

I have to point out that I have great difficulty making recommendations.  I cannot recommend a book without qualification.  I usually hold back when people are seeking the names of good dentists, doctors, car mechanics, or hair stylists.  I never jump in with my opinion on cleaning supplies or beauty products.  You have to drag out of me movie or T.V. suggestions.  

So how could I recommend Dave and Brandi as potential PARENTS--something infinitely and eternally more important than mascara or who cleans my teeth?!  

Because I am that sure. 

Without reservation.  

Brandi and Dave are the real deal, folks.  

(I think I might go change my will now.  I do have a really boring book on my nightstand after all.)

***

Brandi and Dave's adoption profiles are here and here.

Their family blog is here.

I'd love to dish more on their awesomeness!  Just ask. As always, I'm asila77 at good old-fashioned aol.

Montessori Mary strikes again

Once again, Mary amazed us!  Tuesday evening was Go-to-School night for Mary's class.  Mary spent an hour showing us some of her favorite lessons.  (And she even let David help!)  Of course I brought my camera.

(Please excuse the giant puff ball that is Mary's head.  We're having a stand-off about growing her hair out "super super long."  She is welcome to have long hair, as long as I can pull it back everyday.  But somehow I lose the battle every morning.  I see a bob in Mary's future. And you will see unruly hair in this post.)

Mary chose to show us the lengthy, multi-step clock lesson first.  (According to Mary's teacher, Mary's enthusiasm for this lesson has made it all the rage in the classroom.  Now everyone wants some clock action!)

First, she rolls out a rug.  Then she carefully carries all the materials to the rug.  The first step in the lesson is to put the numbers on the clock.

Then she lines up all the clock tiles, in order from 1 o'clock to 12 o'clock.  Afterwards, she matches the small tiles (that read "1 o'clock," "2 o'clock," and so forth) with the correct clock face tile.

Then she sets about making a little booklet of the hours on a clock.  She moves the big hand on the big clock to each hour, stopping to make a page of the booklet each time.

She draws the clock hands in red pencil and writes the time with a regular pencil.

She agrees to let David help her.

It takes a long time to go all the way around the clock.

But she does it!  (Everyday--because it's so much fun!  Who knew?  Well, besides Maria Montessori.)

Mary's ready to staple her booklet.

And then she and David set about cleaning up the material.

Soon Mary will learn half-hour, quarter hours, and all the minutes in between.



At David's request, Mary did a map next.

See that little purple country sitting up there on the rug?  Do you know what it is?

When she pulled it off the map, she said, "Oh, Daddy, here's Honduras," and handed it to him.  (What the!!??!  Does your four-year-old know where Honduras is?  Do YOU know where Honduras is?  Heck, my husband lived there for a year--and I quite like geography--and I still can't pick it out on a map.)

Mary manged to show us a few other lessons as well.

She even taught David a few lessons that he did independently.

Mary finished off the evening with the number beads.  (And she let David check her work.)

It was a marvelous evening!

***

You can see pictures of last year's Go-to-School Nights here and here.  Also, here are some observations I made upon observing Mary's class in action.  (In that post, I mention that my verdict was still out on Montessori.  The verdict is in:  And it's good.)