Things are looking very good in regards to Baby Boy.
Wait for the LORD; Be strong, and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the LORD.
Psalm 27:14
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
2 calls in 3 days
Call from social worker yesterday evening: 13 month old boy. 6 months to TPR, mild legal risk.
Pray for us. I don't know why, but my heart beats a little harder just typing this out.
Pray for us. I don't know why, but my heart beats a little harder just typing this out.
Wisdom
I'm off to have an oral surgeon peer into my mouth and assess the damage that is my wisdom teeth. He will hopefully pull at least one; I'd really like him to do all three (I had one pulled about 6 years ago) but apparently I need to have a full-blown consultation for the ones on the bottom, rather than just an appointed time to meet, greet, sedate and yank.
I am looking forward to some nitrus-induced oblivion rather than white-knuckled endurance in the dentist chair. Pray for steady hands!
I am looking forward to some nitrus-induced oblivion rather than white-knuckled endurance in the dentist chair. Pray for steady hands!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Too much of a good thing
I've been toying with a more structured approach to our days for a little while. Not that I want it, mind you.
I've tried in the past to wrestle our schedule in to some semblance of an order, but can never stay on it for long. The fact of the matter is, I am absolutely loathe to interrupt one good thing for another, and that's exactly what a schedule generally feels like to me. Example: you have set aside forty-five minutes for an art activity. That three-quarters of an hour has passed, but everyone is still happily working away. What to do? The schedule says that now it's time to move on to something else--something just as worthy of your time, mind you. Do you throw caution to the wind and stick with the successful art experience, or abandon ship and move on?
I'm a stay-with-what-works kind of girl. In general, my kids are as well. They also have devised frighteningly inventive and imaginative ways to occupy themselves--ways that keep them solidly from underfoot and meaningfully engaged in one of the pastimes I value most in children: play.
But it's the "keeping them from underfoot" part that I find myself taking a bit of advantage of. Do you have any idea how freeing it is for a writer who has fought tooth and nail for a mere thirty minutes at the keyboard for the past decade of her life to suddenly find herself with entire afternoons stretching before her?
"Is this even possible?" you ask yourself. The answer, in my house, is yes.
I have found as of late that my children have begun--over the course of the past year, I realized belatedly--to go from their required afternoon rest period of an hour and an half into a long stint of sustained, quiet, away-from-mommy play. Writing and performing plays. Building elaborate villages from Lincoln Logs and reenacting key battles in the Civil War. Setting up extensive veterinary clinics and treating a variety of stuffed animals. Reading aloud to one another.
Sounds like heaven, doesn't it?
Well, it is. Kind of. Except ...
That's not what I want.
While I love, love, love my afternoon writing time, I do not want to have it at the expense of my children. An hour and a half, I think, it in no way afflicting my 10, 7 and 5 year olds. They are happily curled up in their respective beds, reading, listening to books on tape, coloring or otherwise entertaining themselves. This, I believe, is a good thing. A respite from the day's busyness. A rest time in the truest sense.
But the extended period ... I don't know if that is something that I want to make a habit. A few times a week, yes, it's lovely. But what about all the books we aren't reading? The games we aren't playing? The cookies we're not baking? The times I could be pouring into their hearts, or them into mine ... they are passing me by as I sit in front of the computer and pound out stories.
I never thought I'd say this, but here it is:
I don't want my children to be quite so comfortable with me being unavailable.
And that's where this whole scheduling thing comes in. I'm making a concerted effort to stick more closely to the priorities that I have set in my heart and mind when it comes to how I spend my time. Being with my children--present physically, emotionally and spiritually--is one of them. It's a sad statement that I have to mark a starting and ending time to a good thing (me writing) to make way for another good thing (time with my family). But apparently, I do need that discipline after all.
I've tried in the past to wrestle our schedule in to some semblance of an order, but can never stay on it for long. The fact of the matter is, I am absolutely loathe to interrupt one good thing for another, and that's exactly what a schedule generally feels like to me. Example: you have set aside forty-five minutes for an art activity. That three-quarters of an hour has passed, but everyone is still happily working away. What to do? The schedule says that now it's time to move on to something else--something just as worthy of your time, mind you. Do you throw caution to the wind and stick with the successful art experience, or abandon ship and move on?
I'm a stay-with-what-works kind of girl. In general, my kids are as well. They also have devised frighteningly inventive and imaginative ways to occupy themselves--ways that keep them solidly from underfoot and meaningfully engaged in one of the pastimes I value most in children: play.
But it's the "keeping them from underfoot" part that I find myself taking a bit of advantage of. Do you have any idea how freeing it is for a writer who has fought tooth and nail for a mere thirty minutes at the keyboard for the past decade of her life to suddenly find herself with entire afternoons stretching before her?
"Is this even possible?" you ask yourself. The answer, in my house, is yes.
I have found as of late that my children have begun--over the course of the past year, I realized belatedly--to go from their required afternoon rest period of an hour and an half into a long stint of sustained, quiet, away-from-mommy play. Writing and performing plays. Building elaborate villages from Lincoln Logs and reenacting key battles in the Civil War. Setting up extensive veterinary clinics and treating a variety of stuffed animals. Reading aloud to one another.
Sounds like heaven, doesn't it?
Well, it is. Kind of. Except ...
That's not what I want.
While I love, love, love my afternoon writing time, I do not want to have it at the expense of my children. An hour and a half, I think, it in no way afflicting my 10, 7 and 5 year olds. They are happily curled up in their respective beds, reading, listening to books on tape, coloring or otherwise entertaining themselves. This, I believe, is a good thing. A respite from the day's busyness. A rest time in the truest sense.
But the extended period ... I don't know if that is something that I want to make a habit. A few times a week, yes, it's lovely. But what about all the books we aren't reading? The games we aren't playing? The cookies we're not baking? The times I could be pouring into their hearts, or them into mine ... they are passing me by as I sit in front of the computer and pound out stories.
I never thought I'd say this, but here it is:
I don't want my children to be quite so comfortable with me being unavailable.
And that's where this whole scheduling thing comes in. I'm making a concerted effort to stick more closely to the priorities that I have set in my heart and mind when it comes to how I spend my time. Being with my children--present physically, emotionally and spiritually--is one of them. It's a sad statement that I have to mark a starting and ending time to a good thing (me writing) to make way for another good thing (time with my family). But apparently, I do need that discipline after all.
Not ours
I spoke with the placement coordinator and started asking the ten zillion questions we came up with. Upshot: We will not be pursuing the adoption of the two children I mentioned. After learning more about them, we decided that our family did not have the resources to truly meet the needs of these children. Thankfully, another family with our agency does have a strong background in that area. If we hadn't asked a specific question, no one would have been the wiser--that's the downside of paperwork. What you see isn't always what you get. Usually, of course, it's the children who get slighted in that kind of a deal. Pray that the family I mentioned is successful in bringing these kids home.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
They're on the job
Just a few weeks in to the transition between the two agencies ... and we got our first call!
I really like the new placement coordinator (very important), and I feel like working with her will be a pretty good arrangement. She's the one who sighs every time she realizes how long we've been licensed and waiting. How can I not like her? :-)
This particular call was regarding a sibling set--boy, just turned 4 and a girl, who is either 2 or 3 (the birthyear listed may be incorrect). The children are AA, TPR has already been filed and bio dad has relinquished. The kids are currently in a relative placement that has to end by March 14.
I don't know if these are our kids or not. Honestly, the Lord hasn't really given me an indication in either direction. I am praying, praying and trying hard to listen for His voice. I don't have the pitter-patter in my heart that I have had in previous cases. Is that just me being jaded? I really don't know. I am straining, leaning in ... waiting on the Lord.
I really like the new placement coordinator (very important), and I feel like working with her will be a pretty good arrangement. She's the one who sighs every time she realizes how long we've been licensed and waiting. How can I not like her? :-)
This particular call was regarding a sibling set--boy, just turned 4 and a girl, who is either 2 or 3 (the birthyear listed may be incorrect). The children are AA, TPR has already been filed and bio dad has relinquished. The kids are currently in a relative placement that has to end by March 14.
I don't know if these are our kids or not. Honestly, the Lord hasn't really given me an indication in either direction. I am praying, praying and trying hard to listen for His voice. I don't have the pitter-patter in my heart that I have had in previous cases. Is that just me being jaded? I really don't know. I am straining, leaning in ... waiting on the Lord.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Hamlet 2
This is the upside of taking a completely unplanned semi-break from school:
I was the lone audience member this morning in a presentation of a world-premiere production of "Hamlet 2." Jo, seeing a door perhaps left open by Shakespeare at the close of "Hamlet," took it upon herself to add a second installment. In this chapter, Hamlet was actually not killed, but merely mostly dead at the end of the last scene. He is pulled back from the edge of death by the ghost of his father, hidden away, and nursed back to strength.
Prince Fortinbras discovers that Hamlet's demise has been greatly exaggerated, and decides to take up arms in an attempt to secure the throne in case Hamlet returns.
Which, of course, he does.
A bloody battle, replete with Shakespearian comedy, ensues. At the close, once again, Hamlet lies at death's door, whispering to dear Horatio. This time, however, Hamlet bequeaths the kingdom to Horatio before breathing what one can only hope is, indeed, his last breath.
When interviewed, the writer/director acknowledged that she felt the burden of history in even approaching such a weighty and well-regarded title.
"That's why Hamlet had to die at the end," she admitted. Apparently, anything less would have been sacrilege.
My apologies to the Bard, and my thanks to the G. family for their wonderful gift of this book, which taught my children a whole lot more than I did today. :-)
I was the lone audience member this morning in a presentation of a world-premiere production of "Hamlet 2." Jo, seeing a door perhaps left open by Shakespeare at the close of "Hamlet," took it upon herself to add a second installment. In this chapter, Hamlet was actually not killed, but merely mostly dead at the end of the last scene. He is pulled back from the edge of death by the ghost of his father, hidden away, and nursed back to strength.
Prince Fortinbras discovers that Hamlet's demise has been greatly exaggerated, and decides to take up arms in an attempt to secure the throne in case Hamlet returns.
Which, of course, he does.
A bloody battle, replete with Shakespearian comedy, ensues. At the close, once again, Hamlet lies at death's door, whispering to dear Horatio. This time, however, Hamlet bequeaths the kingdom to Horatio before breathing what one can only hope is, indeed, his last breath.
When interviewed, the writer/director acknowledged that she felt the burden of history in even approaching such a weighty and well-regarded title.
"That's why Hamlet had to die at the end," she admitted. Apparently, anything less would have been sacrilege.
My apologies to the Bard, and my thanks to the G. family for their wonderful gift of this book, which taught my children a whole lot more than I did today. :-)
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