The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

I used to hate to cry.  I used to never want to cry in front of people, so I’d go take a shower, just because a wet face can hide the tears. But, since the moment I held my son for the first time (8 years ago from Thursday!), I have been like a faucet. I cry at commercials, listening to music in the car, whenever my kids are exceptionally sweet, and at pretty much all kids movies. Especially ones about adoption.

We are big time movie goers, and for Mother’s Day I took my kiddos out to see “Chimpanzee”…with a few tissues handy.

This Disneynature film did not disappoint. The jungle environment was breathtaking, the chimps playing and learning were adorable and the part where little “Oscar” is adopted by the leader of their pack, “Freddie” left my eyes misty.  The film does a great job showing how his mommy provides everything he needs, teaches him at ‘homeschool’ how to use the ‘tools’ to open nuts, and lovingly grooms him.  You know that there is little hope for him when he is left motherless.  The other chimps won’t care for him and as a last resort he begins following the leader, who at first generously tolerates him hanging around.  But then, this sweet relationship forms and the greatest of them lets the littlest of them ride upon his back (as only a mother would do), and takes over the role of providing for him.  WAAAAAA….those are happy tears, of course, for an adoption advocate like me.  Hope for a little guy who was vulnerable, confused, hungry and lonely.

Not long ago, I was reading on my couch and I overheard these lines from a movie:

“You’re changing that boy’s life.” Leigh Anne Tuohy: “No, he is changing mine.”

These were words, of course, from “The Blind Side” and if you haven’t seen it, go get it right now!  (While you are at it, if you haven’t read the book, “The Hiding Place”, pick up that while you are out.) This is one of those movies that I will watch pretty much anytime it is on TV.  (I also stop and watch “You’ve got mail” anytime its on, too…just thought you should know in light of full disclosure.)  This touching story is about taking a chance on a young man who looks different than you, has lived different than you and has great potential, but never has had anyone help him find it.  WAAAA….now, that’s me crying because usually people are so afraid to take in an older child from foster care.  Older children need forever homes, need people to cheer them on in life, need support to realize how special and gifted each of them are in their own ways.

Last, I want to confess that kids movies ALWAYS make me cry- pretty much a 95% chance that a tear will escape at the end of every Disney animated feature ever created.  From Bambi (obviously) to Despicable Me (my current favorite- mostly because the little girl loves the word “fluffy” about as much as I do!) Here’s my son’s blog contribution to illustrate my point:

“One big unicorn, strong and free, thought he was happy as he could be. Then three little kittens came around and turned his whole life upside down. They made him laugh, they made him cry. He never should have said goodbye. And now he knows he can never part from those three little kittens that changed his heart.” says Gru to the three little girls at the end

The big thing that makes me WAAAAA during this movie is seeing the power of a child (or children) to change who we are for the better.  Even if it is hard to make changes (and I’m sure we will face difficult changes when future child joins us) it just makes us better people if we are willing to learn to live a little less selfishly for the sake of our children.  I always say that the best “school” I have ever been in has been the “school of mothering”.  Sometimes I plead to go back to get a Master’s degree because that actually seems easier than the things I have to learn at home (like how not to yell at my kids to not yell at each other….irony.)  Gru takes in three little girls and his heart is softened to reading them stories and tucking them in at night.  I sometimes wonder, “where do I need a softer heart?” and “what changes do I need to mature enough to make for the sake of my children?”

My hope is that there would be more soft hearts towards adoption, foster care and real needs of real children all around us.  My hope is that I would cry over things that matter instead of the tears I waste having tantrums (much like my children do) because I didn’t get MY WAY. My hope is that more movies that champion adoption are made, and that we would all want to be a little more like Freddie, Leigh Anne and Gru.

Does this sound familiar to you? You’re breastfeeding your 8 week old when your 2 1/2 year old screams for help from the bathroom. Of course, without thinking twice, you run to the bathroom with your boob hanging out (passing all the open blinds on your windows, and giving your mailman a treat) with your baby, uh, still latched on.  You get to the bathroom only to find that your toddler has smeared poop across the toilet seat as she tried to shimmy off of it.

Or, maybe this scenario? You’re breastfeeding your baby (because really, that’s all you ever do) when your toddler jumps at your face and begs you to play blocks with her.  She asks relentlessly until you’re forced to slither off the couch with….you guessed it, your baby attached to your breast and you build a Lego tower (aka, “Fairy House”) with one hand.

Or, maybe you’ve experienced this one before? You finally cave under the incessant begging of your toddler for a piggyback ride. You awkwardly kneel to the ground, because of course, you’re holding your nursing baby against your chest with one arm, and you use the other arm to hoist your toddler onto your tired back. You find yourself neighing and galloping – sending ripples of disdain through your muffin top.

If you can relate, then you’ll totally appreciate DJ’s latest game, which happens to be the best game ever. It’s the “Nap Game.” At any given time of the day, DJ will insist that I take a nap. It’s awesome.

She’ll enthusiastically lead me into her room and make me lay down in her bed, ensuring my head is resting on a fluffed pillow.  Once I’m all tucked in, she will “read” me a book, then close her blackout shades, turn on her white noise machine, and tell me to “sleep all night, I be so proud of you.” And then, get this, she walks out of her room, shutting the door behind her.

Then, I close my eyes. Breathe. Enjoy. Breastfeed Z quietly, without interruption. Every few minutes, I’ll call out something like, “Mommy, I’m scared,” or “Mommy, I want to sleep in your bed,” partially because I feel obligated to engage with her in this fabulous game, but mostly because I want to ensure she’s not smearing poop across our toilet seat.

Aside from the fleeting reprieve that this game gives me (which, have I mentioned, is awesome?), I have to admit that I find the whole role-playing thing pretty entertaining….and terrifying. DJ is absolutely absorbing our every word, and she’s carefully matching them with accompanying actions. Not only do we have to be careful with what we say and do, but how we say and do them.

The other night, DJ put my husband in a timeout for not listening to her. I’m pleased to say that she did it sternly, but lovingly.  She explained what he did wrong, set a timer for a few minutes and then encouraged him to offer her an apology in order to be dismissed from timeout. While we giggled behind her back after the whole episode, we also recognized the gravity of this particular developmental stage.

DJ is learning how to treat others by the way we treat her. She is accepting that what we say and do is, indeed, just how it’s done. This means that she’ll be taking her lessons from home to her school, her grandparent’s house, and eventually her friends’ houses.  Seeing her pretend to be us keeps us accountable to respectful and appropriate actions and behaviors. In other words, she’s kind of airing our dirty laundry by mimicking us – which means, we had better clean it up!

It’s no wonder why she’s started breastfeeding her dolls, right?

5 pee sticks later and a lot, and I mean a lot of tears, I can announce that I’m not pregnant. I had convinced myself, which is becoming a pattern lately, that I was pregnant. I had every symptom imaginable and I “felt” pregnant. I kept telling my husband that I would totally and utterly be surprised if I wasn’t and then…my “friend” came 4 days early which is starting to make me think that my cycles are all messed up again. Not only was it a huge letdown, but it was an even bigger letdown when I realized that even though there is always “next month,” that slogan is not true for me unless you still believe in immaculate conceptions. My husband is basically gone for the entire month of May, which means I’m looking at June as the next time I can “try.”

The weird and very lovely thing is that I’m over it. I bounced back and didn’t sink into the depths of despair. I put my big girl panties on, literally, and re-entered life as I know it. The fact is, I can’t go off emotions anymore when it comes to baby making. I believe everything happens for a reason and there is a reason why I’m not pregnant right now and I have to trust in timing and not freak out. Maybe it’s because I have been through this before and I know that one day I will be able to announce that I have a little one growing inside me and right now I should just enjoy the process.

If I’m being honest, there are a lot of times when I wish to myself I was one of those women who had the issue of being too fertile. Gosh, I wonder what it would be like to have the reverse problem and be scared every time my husband and I were intimate. Even though that comes with it’s own set of problems, I often wish I had that problem. I wish I could just pick the month I wanted to get pregnant and it happen. Believe me, I have friends that do.

I do believe we are all given hardships in life.  This is mine and I have to embrace it and be okay with it. It’s a tough hardship to have and yet I have grown so much from it. It has given me patience, compassion, and most of all a desire to be a voice to those who struggle in silence. I don’t claim to be one of those women who have it super duper hard when it comes to infertility. I’m not Giuliana Rancic, but I have gone through the process of being told I might not ever have children. If I have to go through 500 pee sticks to see a positive I will. Boy, my husband is one lucky man!

The other morning when I peed for the last time and saw that last negative of the month, my sweet girl waltzed into the bathroom and was wearing her Daddy’s hat. She came over to me and said, “Wook Mommy, I Daddy.” Really, that was all  I needed to put me back into reality and LITERALLY get me off the pitty pot. I proceeded to grab her and hold her and thank the heavens above for our little miracle.

In no way, shape or form am I comparing my daughter to a “Sour Patch Kid,” but the behavior comparison is sometimes very similar. The hitting, followed by a hug. The pinch of the leg followed by a “Love you Daddy!” The submission of the cat followed by a “I’m sorry kitty.” I know that sometimes the sour/sweet combo is for attention but I also think (just from watching her from afar) that it’s purely the 2yr old impulse.

She is learning boundaries by testing the waters…seeing what she can get away with. It’s hard not to laugh sometimes, but it’s my job to teach her (at her pace) what is/isn’t OK. I know this happens to a lot of parents and I think it’s completely normal so I’m trying to guide her, as best I can, to thinking about her actions first before she simply acts. Does that make sense? I’m thinking about dressing her up as a Sour Patch Kid for Halloween…is that wrong? J/K

I’m noticing more and more that she is prone to acting up more when her mommy is home. If it’s just me and her, she’s a completely different kid. It’s the weirdest thing! She has even entered this phase where mommy needs to do everything…”no daddy, I want mommy to get it!”….”no daddy, I want mommy to get me!”…etc. Does it hurt my feelings? Yeah, sometimes…..but I keep reminding myself that she’s only 2 and she’s constantly learning. Does that happen to others as well (or vice versa where the child only wants Daddy and not mommy?) I’m interested to know……

Go Giants!

Since summer is fast approaching and for my family that means Road Trips!  My kids are seasoned car travelers and I actually love family road trips.  But my husband and I have some rules we like to stick to.  I’ve been over these before in the magazine, but it never hurts to review.

On a family road trip, there are Mommy jobs and Daddy jobs.

The Daddy job is to drive in a straight line on the Interstate for 1,000 miles. The Mommy job is to feed, entertain, cajole, referee, play, settle, soothe, navigate, translate, buckle, unbuckle, re-buckle, clean and every other mobile nurturing task possible at 70 mph.

Daddy must concentrate on the road. Mommy must concentrate on the three road-weary children who still need to eat every four minutes whilst unpacking their “surprise” bags that took her three days and $1,738 to assemble so that the children don’t disturb Daddy for seven minutes.

Daddy must stay in his lane.  Mommy must settle all other territorial disputes that erupt in the back seat resulting in no less than 13 hours of intense negotiations, treaties and bribes.

Daddy listens to sports talk AM radio in cities to which he has no association and about teams to which he has no allegiance nor apparent interest by the look on his face. Mommy must change 80 DVDs in order to find the only working one, Cars, which then is watched repeatedly for the next ten days.

Daddy says things like, “I know it’s midnight, but we just need to go a hundred more miles until we stop for the night.” Mommy says things like, “I’ll buy you a pony if you stop asking me when we’ll be there.”

Daddy points out interesting things along the way. Mommy repeats them in an audible voice because no one in the back can hear Daddy over Cars or sports talk radio volume.

Daddy is willing to travel extra miles to save two cents a gallon on gasoline.  Mommy wonders if her sanity is worth the fuel savings.

Daddy protests a questionable “s” int he 98th round of the alphabet game. Mommy lobbies for “straightjacket,” “suicide” or “for the love of all that is good and holy, could you please let this one slide?”

Daddy sometimes gets cross at Mommy when he asks her to look up something on the map and she can’t quickly figure it out. Mommy apologizes, but her eyes are bleeding from lack of sleep.

Daddy needs the air conditioning set at 62 degrees because he is the driver and must be comfortable. Mommy makes blankets out of pocket tissues and straw wrappers.

When Daddy does finally stop, he seems to always pass the restaurants Mommy chooses. Mommy eats a lot of BBQ and deep-fried items on sticks on vacation.

When the family finally arrives at their destination, all of the relatives exclaim to Daddy, “Oh! You must be exhausted from driving all that way!”  Mommy silently weeps and wishes that commuter bus they passed back in Fresno would suddenly careen out of control and put her aching, road-filthy, utterly dog-tired wretched body out of its misery. Oh, for a bottle of wine!

Curiously, Daddy does not offer to switch jobs for the return leg.

In high school my friends and I liked to make up our own “national” holidays.  We started with “National Crimp Your Hair Day” because many of us still had our lonely crimping irons from the 80′s waiting to be used again.  We would make signs to put up around school that said stuff like “Don’t be a square, Crimp your Hair!” while we were bored in Government class. And we would try to trick nudge others to join us in our adventures! (Amongst others, we had National Headband Day, which is kind of a joke now because crazy headbands are totally in.) And basically, we would convince a bunch of people just to have fun on our fake “National” Days.

Missy and Chrissy Sport a Crimp '97

But, FOR REAL, May is National Foster Care Month and I have been looking at some great sites that I can’t wait to share with you.

www.fostercaremonth.org

This is a great site, here’s a description of what this month is all about:

May is a time to “shine a light on the experiences of more than 400,000 children and youth in the foster care system…and encourages citizens from every walk of life to get involved.”

www.fosteryouthhelp.ca.gov/pdfs/GuardianScholars.pdf

For the 30,000 people who “age out” of the foster care system at 18, it is very hard to navigate jobs, attending college and the responsibilities of an adult without any support.  We made care packages for the students who are part of the Guardian Scholar program at San Francisco State University last year. It was a way to our family could partner with this program to love on some nearby students and encourage them to keep going!  This program is at many universities and students receive financial help, housing priority (that remains available to them all year…because many do not have a home to return to during holidays), employment services, counseling, and book vouchers.

Next valuable resource, to educate you this month is the California Department of Social Services site.

www.childsworld.ca.gov/PG1335.htm

This has a great foster parenting FAQ page that answers questions like: “What if my foster child gets sick?” Medical and dental coverage is provided through the Medi-Cal Program.

www.sleeptrain.com

This is one of my favorite local businesses to support!  You can bring a new pair of shoes to any Sleep Train store on the peninsula and they pass those along to children placed in local foster homes.  We bought a new mattress this year (first time ever…ours was a hand-me-down from another friend 10 years ago!) and this is the place we chose to support.  There is a 30 second video that you may have seen on their television ads that says:

” Foster Children average 3 different placements, and nearly half do not return to live with their biological families.”

Just today, I read our report of waiting kids (sent out by our agency) and cried through it (as I always do) as I saw just the truth of this.  One little girl had been in foster care since 02/2011 and had been in three different homes, just waiting for her forever family.

helponechild.org/resourcers/foster-parent-questions

This is the place we went first when we were in the “gathering information” phase of our big journey.  This organization offers the CPR classes needed to be certified and continuing classes after placement on all different topics, plus special gatherings for foster parents to connect.This link above takes you to one of their best online resources: a list of questions to help you in your decision making process

My little girl just told me that she needs four hugs a day! I actually always say that my kids need 100 hugs and kisses every day to grow big and strong. We can all send a “hug” to a child who needs help, by spreading awareness, being involved locally, and dropping by a pair of shoes (or pajamas 0r whatever!) to a local Sleep Train.  Hope this helps you to grow in your knowledge as we all work together to care for the children in our communities.

This is one of my longer, and more serious posts.  You’ve been warned.

Last week, at my first post-natal appointment, with sincere compassion, my OBGYN asked, “So, how are you feeling now?” I replied, “So much better.  Still not awesome, but way better.”

I wasn’t going to share my experience with Post-Partum Depression (PPD) until I was back to awesome – but I’ve since decided that because I’m an open book, it would be too hard to skate around the topic in coming posts. I anticipate that much of my current, and future, musings about motherhood will inevitably be colored by this “condition,” so why not just put it out there? Besides, if I can help even just one woman recognize that she’s not alone in her thoughts and feelings, then I owe it to her not to delay sharing my story.

I am prone to anxiety.  I’ve been an anxious person for as long as I can remember.  About 10 years ago, the anxiety escalated to full-blown panic attacks.  For a brief time, I was on medication, but weaned myself off of it after a year.  While the anxiety slowly crept back in, I never did have another panic attack – THANK GOD because those are awful. Awful.

I had feared the possibility of PPD when I was pregnant with DJ. I knew that because of my past issues with anxiety, I was considered “at-risk” for PPD.  I was one big, walking worry wort  throughout my entire pregnancy with DJ (Actually, I was kind of a hot mess). My thoughts were often irrational, stressing not only over things out of my control – but literally obsessing over the what-ifs.  However, the moment she was born, all of my fears, my worries, my doubts, and my anxieties just melted away.  Seriously, the second she was placed on my chest, everything felt calm, and peaceful. I was whole, balanced, sane. I remember being pregnant and people telling me to “just wait, once she’s born you’ll have a new set of worries.” But, the thing is, I have never worried about DJ to the extent that I did while I was pregnant with her.

When I got pregnant with Z, naturally I thought that because I’d done it all before, the worrying would be at a minimum. I was so wrong. In fact, the two pregnancy experiences were so similar that I diagnosed myself with pregnancy-induced anxiety (I don’t even know if that’s a real thing). Anyhow, I’d assumed that once Z was born, just like with DJ, all the worrying would stop. I’d be overcome with contentment and joy, and I’d revel in each new moment.

So, when things didn’t go quite like that – I was ashamed.

It happened very slowly. It wasn’t anything extreme. I didn’t want to run away from home, abandon my husband or toss my baby out a window. In fact, I wasn’t struggling to bond with Z at all. I was struggling to tolerate DJ. I was living life by holding onto the promise that each day would bring DJ’s nap time. In those early days, just 8 weeks ago – I’d barely breathe while DJ slept for fear of anything waking her. And then, when she’d begin to stir and moan, I’d feel myself desperately holding back the tears. “Don’t wake the beast,” became a mantra in my head.  And when the almost-three-year-old beast would wake, I’d count down the hours till my husband got home from work. Living life watching the hands of the clock slowly tick by, is an excruciating way to pass time.

Day by day, DJ’s tantrums grew less possible to manage, and my resentment began to mount.  I was aware of it, though – and I’d crumble daily under the guilt of how I’d gotten there.  How had I gone from denying I’d ever be able to love another child as completely as I loved DJ, to just trying to make it through each minute with her.

Time out. Mothering had been my favorite thing in the world. Mothering had been my calling. There was no greater source of happiness – and there I was, loathing it at times. Something wasn’t right.

I couldn’t sleep.  I stopped showering daily. I stopped caring what the house looked like. I stopped answering my phone. I stopped replying to email. I stopped leaving my house. I stopped being patient. I stopped being fair. I stopped thinking. I began depending on our DVD player to get us (me, DJ and Z) through the day. I realized that I didn’t like who I had become. Something wasn’t right.

I remember laying in bed, Z on my chest, DJ at my side, with the umpteenth cartoon of the day on. With both girls touching me, pawing at me, needing me, wanting me – my skin began to crawl and I literally thought I might scream. Instead, I sobbed. I sobbed and I texted a close girlfriend whom I knew was currently on medication for PPD. “Can we talk PPD later?,” I wrote.

She called me that very night, and for the first time, I shared with another human being that I wasn’t enjoying being a mom. A feeling so contradictory to the truth that I knew to be inside of me. It felt so good to spew the entire truth without fear of judgement. To my relief, some of the things I was feeling were “normal.” Overwhelmed, insecure, exhausted…those were universal feelings when trying to find balance in a new, more complex parenting role.  Even the fleeting, “What was I thinking to alter the family I already had, already knew?,” was a familiar thought to many other healthy women.

“On a scale of 0 to 100%, how much are you enjoying being a mom right now?,” my friend asked. “Maybe 40%,” I reluctantly admitted. She encouraged me to reach out to my doctor.

Once my doctor and I got on the phone, all 5 weeks of shame came pouring out. I bawled as I told her that I kept thinking it would get better, but that everyday felt darker than the previous day. She asked how I wanted to proceed, with medication, therapy or both. “Both.” I was afraid that I’d start therapy only to recognize that I also needed medication, and that by then I would’ve spiraled down even deeper. I also didn’t want to lose one more day of enjoying my children. So, I got the happy pills and I’ve been on them for almost 4 weeks now.

Like I said, I am better – way better, really. I force myself to leave the house everyday and I shower at least every other day (insert smiley face here). I’m cooking again and keeping the house tidy. Most importantly, I am once again head over heels in love with my first born. Despite her wicked tantrums, I can’t get enough of her hugs and giggles – and I have the presence of mind to deal with her negative behavior in an effective way.

Once again, I’m falling in love with motherhood. I am slowly returning to the woman I know myself to be. I start and end each day feeling extremely blessed for, and by, my two girls. In between morning and evening, there are still struggles…still temptations to stay in bed, still tendencies to shut the world out, and still debilitating guilt over the amount of TV happening in this house – but overall, I’m feeling so much more in control. So much more present. Hallelujah!

I have a little ways to go yet – but let me tell you, I am miles from where I was. I am so grateful for the many women in my life who shared their own personal struggle with PPD. It’s much more common than I was ever aware of. I am hoping that by sharing my story, you’ll feel inspired to share your own. The more we talk about this, the fewer women will spend a second longer than they need feeling trapped in their own skin.

Motherhood is so beautiful…and complicated.  Do whatever it takes to enjoy it purely, and to embrace it wholly. There’s just no need to “tough it out” when you’re feeling so disconnected to the very thing you were most longing for – to love, and be loved, by your children.

It’s that time of year—Prom! From the dress to the shoes and hair to makeup, it all has to be discussed, tried out, redone and then Instagramed. For most girls, it’s not who you’re taking; it’s what you’re wearing, and making sure nobody has the same dress. That’s why as soon as we found a dress, my daughter got on her friend’s Facebook pages to make sure nobody else had it.

Luckily for me and my daughter’s sanity, the dress was a hit and nobody else had it. After she quickly posted it, the question came up about shoes. You wouldn’t think something so small could be that difficult, but for women it is. For me, it was all about comfort; but for my daughter, it was making sure the heels wouldn’t make her taller than her date. Try getting into that psyche!

I kept reminding her that she was only sixteen and Jessica Simpson’s 5 inch platforms for $100 weren’t going to last on her feet for more than an hour; and then there would be the pre-party and after party, which by the way – will both be held at my house (I am surely turning into my mother!).

My daughter really wanted heels, and so every time she liked a pair, I made her walk around the store in them. It was really funny, I’ll admit. Watching her stand there with her head held up and back straight in a perfect still position. Then, when I asked her to walk , he heels turned in, her hands flared out to stay balanced, and her facial expression tried to look poised. It was definitely a scene from “What Not to Wear.”

Every shoe she tried on that was 4 inches or higher, in her mind, was a contender for prom night. In my mind, reality check and the person paying the bill, was trying saying, “Heck No!” I love my daughter and I want her to be happy, but Mommy knows best.

It was a hilarious scene at the shoe department; me showing her flats and wedges and her giving me a look—”old lady shoes!” By some miracle, she finally agreed on a pair of wedges with a peep toe. I pointed out the obvious—with a long dress nobody would see the entire shoe anyway. But in her imagination she wanted to be Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story. I could see it, and this is what years of sitting with my daughter watching reruns of Disney movies has given me—a small tap into my daughter’s head.

Somehow I managed to get my daughter to do a 180 degree turn and buy a pair of wedges. She admitted they would be comfortable and more practical. I was beaming inside. How could this be possible? My head strong daughter who admittedly resents authority is listening to me and doing the sensible thing! Love it!

Written by Jane Khoury
Born and raised in San Francisco
Graduated in SF State in Marketing and Computer Information Systems
Two brothers, one older and one younger, and we are always in touch
Married to Sam with four children
Hobbies: tennis, golf, volunteer, volunteer, volunteer, trying to sit down and read a good book
Favorite tv shows: Smash, Biggest Loser, GCB, Desperate Housewives, and Seinfeld
Favorite pass time: going to Giants games
Secret Crush: Tom Hanks
Geek Side: loves to talk computers

I don’t need the calendar to tell me that the school year is almost over. I merely look at the slow deterioration of my children, home and what little is left of my mind to know the end is near. The kids are down to one frayed strap and a piece of dental floss precariously holding their backpacks together. Since I refuse to by any new pants until the day before the first day of school next year, my son is getting sunburns on his calves at recess. We’ve got one sock left between us, and they are alternating days wearing it.

And we’re tired of homework. Specifically, the never-ending projects which somehow require me carrying the bulk of the workload. I’ve used so much glue this past year that all of my fingerprints have been cast in Elmer’s skeletons 10 times over. Our kitchen table looks like we’ve been paying the home version of CSI or we’re experimenting with different identities to enter the Witness Protection Program. I truly hope I’ve made my last late-night trip to Target for supplies to recreate the Eiffel Tower in popsicle sticks.

We could sue a little break from the book reports as well. While I certainly appreciate a healthy appetite for books, I could do without another story about childhood angst written with a plethora of italics and exclamation points!!! The only things I want my nine year olds reading this summer are Interstate signs and lemonade recipes.

But it’s the waking up early that’s killing me. I’ve noticed that we’ve gradually pushed our wake-up time later and later each week with the snooze button forsaking some new element in our morning routine for a few extra minutes of blessed sleep. First we gave up making beds, now were are lucky if we leave the house without shampoo in our hair and a breakfast of Tic Tacs and Chapstick.

So if you think I am dreading the end of the school year — that somehow my workload will increase with all three children at home 24/7 as opposed to 18/5 — you would be wrong. I look as summer as my 2.5 months to undo all the good habits their teachers have instilled the rest of the year. We need some mornings to sleep through the alarm. We need mid-week sleepovers.  We need lunches on plates, not scrunched up in paper bags. I need to smell sunblock and chlorine not industrial janitorial cleaner and sweaty gym socks.

Feel free to remind me of this nostalgia in August when I’m complaining of walking into the grocery store for yet another package of hot dogs in unmatched flip flops and a sheen of bug spray. But until then, the only number 2 pencils we’ll be using will be on the miniature golf course.

• The end of High School Musical has a cheerful little diddy that goes:

“Everyone is special in their own way
We make each other strong (we make each other strong)
Were not the same
Were different in a good way
Together’s where we belong
We’re all in this together …”

It is a sweet little movie, unless your crazy little four year old seems to only remember two things: the eye roll of stinky Sharpay (the reigning drama queen) and the “(giggle, giggle) O, Troy” from the smitten Gabriella. I catch her practicing her smoochy face as she sings and twirls in the mirror and I think What am in for when she is a teenager?! Although, I figure next time she watches HSM, I’m sure she will take to heart the positive message of the song and realize that we do need one another.  (Okay, maybe I’m dreaming here!)

But, I do think that we are in “this” together…parenting.  And “this” is difficult.  I have been so encouraged reading back over the posts from the last  few weeks.  WOW…I haven’t met most of the contributors to this blog in person, but they are so authentic and totally keep it real.  I am very encouraged by their words that inspire me as we move forward day by day.

It takes a village to raise a child. I truly believe this.

It takes a village of people whose words will bring just the wisdom I seek as a parent.  And it takes a village of people whose love, words and time will bring just the extra care to my children that they need.  I know I can’t do it on my own and I am so thankful for the friends who are like sisters to me and aunties to my children.

Living away from our immediate family has forced us to lean in to our community here.  We have had to seek out people who are willing to be the  “aunties and uncles” for our kiddos.  We have had to seek out people to mentor us and support our marriage.  We have had to really trust people.  We have lived here five years and we have been surprised by the hospitality and generosity of so many.

And, this will be every bit as important as we adopt.  We value the wisdom we gain from those who have gone before us.  We treasure the words of encouragement we receive.  We are blessed by each person who has been willing to babysit, or coach, or cheer, or teach our children lessons that they need someone besides me to teach them. (You know what I mean?)

When we lean on one another and have true community that is mutually beneficial, it is such a JOY! Last week, we had two couples come to cheer on our son in his baseball game.  They took time on a beautiful afternoon (when they could have been out on a date, or taking a nap, or any number of things) to show support to our boy by loving the sport he loves the most!  I was touched. (I may have even cried about it –happily– later that night.)

I have a list of people that I know I can call the second we get a call about adopting a child.  Some are people who have been there and can help me navigate the adoption process.  Some of the people are parents who can help me with school pick up if I happen to be at a court visit. Some are friends who will donate “stuff” when we find out what we will need for the future kiddo (clothes, stroller, who knows!) Some are friends who are willing to babysit because I am sure that I will need a little time “off” every once in awhile.

I could try to do it on my own — feeling frustrated– and probably fail.  Or, I can choose to continue to build community, serving these friends as they have served me; loving them and inviting them to be part of the village that will help raise this child.

So, who is on your village “list”?