Last night I threw a full on, kid-in-the-candy-asile-not-gettin’-no-candy tantrum. It was good. And impressive. And totally pathetic.

Here we are, yet again, taking another turn riding the Adoption Roller Coaster. To be read in a monotone voice with no actual enthusiasm:: weeeeeeeee. It’s funny – just like our personality traits – the thing that can be the best, the biggest blessing, can also be the worst and most pain-in-the-but causing aspect to this. It’s COOL that this is so out-of-our-hands. As a control freak, it’s very good for me – but very freakin’ hard! – to just give it all up and trust that everything will work out. (Yet, I know it will, and I know that’s what we’re supposed to do about everything).

So, a pregnant birth mom has come in to the Agency. She knows she’s having a girl. Everything looks good and healthy. She’s due November 25th (as in AFTER the National EE Convention we’re working on). The description of Birth Mom’s personality could’ve been someone describing me. And Birth Dad sounds like an imitation Mike. Birth Mom’s hobbies include: computer games (Mike), art (more Mike than me, really), writing (uh, that’d be me), reading (also me), animals (more Mike than me, I suppose but sorta both of us) and music (yep, right here). Oh, and unlike a situation we found out about last week (from which we were disqualified), this Birth Mom WANTS the family to already have kids. To make the situation even more enticing there are some other aspects to Birth Mom’s personal life (that I shan’t share here), that sure seem like this is the most PERFECT situation yet. It really does have everything that we’ve been praying for. So, I’ve been praying for it. And I mean, PRAYING THAT SHE PICKS US.

I haven’t done this yet. This one feels different. I WANT this one. I feel like I NEED this one. I DESERVE this one. (Yeah, do you hear the whiney kid-in-the-candy-aisle kickin’ in? She’s here!) With the other adoption situations that we’ve been presented with, I’ve gotten excited, but I never thought: This is TOTALLY it. I never actually prayed, “Look, here’s the situation: I really want this one. Please, please, please can we have it? Please can this be The One and have Birth Mom pick us, k? It’s everything we’ve prayed for. This MUST be it!” No, I’ve been a good patient girl (OK, not really), and just prayed more for my acceptance if things didn’t go our way. (Is that a sign that I must’ve known DEEP DOWN that it wasn’t “The One? Whereas with this one I’m just BEGGING that it be The One and make it so!)

So, I’ve tried to push all doubts from my mind. We are, again, one of 10 families in the running for Birth Mom to choose. We are family #3 in the stack (just based on how long we’ve been in child search). So, there are two families’ books above ours, two families who have waited a tad longer, but she can still pick any family 1-10. Yes, so there’s still only a 10% chance that we’ll get picked. [whiney] BUTIWAHNIT.

Finally, last night, after we put the boys to bed, I gave in to the doubt. And then it became a whole discussion of faith. I started crying to Mike that really, if we – obviously – will get The One that is intended for us, then what’s the point of even praying that this be The One?! We’ll get The One whether we pray for it or not, right? (I realize that I’m watering everything down and that obviously there is point to prayer, but in the depths of my dark realization that after this week of praying and pleading and petitioning….I still might not get my way). I even start questioning the whole process: Am I being selfish asking for this specific thing? Do I not DESERVE it? I don’t ask for much personally, so come on! But we do have two healthy children already, so who am I to deserve another? Is this the equivalent of me asking that our very comfortable income suddenly double? (Which I’d never do). But am I being greedy? Maybe I don’t deserve to have three healthy kids including boys AND a girl.

Mike’s most comforting comment was the reminder that with each adoption situation that we’ve seriously thought about, they’ve gotten better. Every single one has seemed better than the last. So, IF this one, isn’t The One, then it just means that there’s actually one even better out there.

“So?” I grumble, folding my arms like an attitude-stricken-teenager. “I want this one. I don’t want those other ones. How could there be one more perfect than this?”

“But we’ll only know about those other ones if this one doesn’t work out,” he says.

“So, what are you saying?” I snap. “You don’t want this one to work out?”

“No,” he calmly assures me, “I’m praying that this is The One, also. And I WILL be disappointed if it doesn’t work out, but I know it means that there’s something better still out there.”

Yeah, yeah, Mr. Trusting-Oh-Faithful-One. I know that in my HEAD, it’s just hard to accept it in my heart.

Unfortunately, in the middle of my tantrum-emotional-outburst, Matthew wandered into the kitchen.

“Mommy, are you sad?” He asks quietly.

“I’m OK, kiddo. Just…tired and a little frustrated.” I didn’t really know how else to explain it.

Then Mike adds, “Mom’s just having a hard time figuring out what God wants.”

“Oh!” Matthew says, like OF COURSE, I should’ve known! “Well, yeah, God IS hard to understand.” Then my little mini-philosopher wanders back down the hall to his room.

A couple minutes later, as Mike and I continue to talk in the kitchen, I hear singing coming from the boys’ room. Matthew is singing – at the top of his lungs – one of my favorite songs, “I’m Yours.” It’s a Jason Mraz hit but was also covered by my favorite (a capalla) group Straight No Chaser and THAT version mixes “I’m Yours” with the Hawaiian (Israel Kamakawiwo'ol’e’s) version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It’s pretty much musical magic. (When I was in wallowing in the pit of post-partum depression, the second Mike got home from work, I used to go in the backyard and listen to Israel K’s song on repeat while trying to push out every last tear of grief…I never really ran out though). Essentially, it’s a song that – especially when sung by my six-year-old – can warm my heart and bring me to tears without fail (in a GOOD way).

I wander down the hall and see Matthew sitting up in bed. As soon as he sees me the singing stops and he grins. “I just thought I could sing it to help Zach fall asleep, and it did! And then I thought, ‘Hey! If I sing it loud enough mommy can hear too and it will make her happy.’ Did it work?!”

“Yes, it did.” I give him a hug and whisper, “You’re such a sweet boy.”

Matthew acts coy and says, “Well, you’re just going to make my heart fill up with love and explode, Mom.”

I know if this Birth Mom doesn’t pick us it will hurt. I know if this Birth Mom doesn’t pick us it will be OK. I know that I’m more than blessed already and anything else will just be sprinkles on the cake. (My cake already has LOTS of icing). But I would like some sprinkles too.

Matthew has had a hard time focusing lately – and for good reason. On Friday morning, I attempted to have him finish his tutoring worksheets before we left for camping. He was fidgeting and goofing and all around unfocused. I really just needed him to give me ten minutes of quality “work time,” but it just was not going well.

When I asked him why he was having such a hard time, he said, “I’m worried that camping is going to start without us!”

Tuesday, after his tutoring session with my friend Megan, she actually told me that he was even fidgety with her – doing such HELPFUL things as resting his head on his arm and blowing fart noises. (OK, that is kind of funny, but not exactly appropriate). I told her that I was having the same issues (not me making farting noises but HIS general inability to focus), and – not to make excuses – but this week is probably a wash because right after tutoring our best buds Joshua and Noah were coming over (with mom Rebecca, of course). Matthew hadn’t seen them in one WHOLE day, since we’d spent the weekend together, so of course we were all excited. Plus, Joshua and Noah (and Rebecca) would be staying for an overnight and then Zachary had his surgery the next day (yesterday). Anyway, Matthew has tutoring this morning, so we’ll see how that goes. I’m personally not expecting amazing things. It would be nice if his session went fart-noise-free this time though.

So, Zachary’s surgery WAS yesterday. When he woke up in the morning, the first thing he asked me was, “Is my surgery today?” When I told him yes, he started to whine, “I don’t wanna go. You said that it wasn’t until tomorrow!!”

“Kiddo, today IS the tomorrow of yesterday.” (Yeah, that’s right. I’m deep).

I was concerned that the hardest part for him would be not getting to eat cereal (or anything – but especially cereal!) first thing in the morning. I let him have a bowl of frosted mini wheats before bed (not to mention whatever he wanted to eat for dinner). The novelty of that was a pretty exciting distraction. At 7:57 yesterday morning – just three minutes from our deadline – I force fed him a few gulps of apple juice. I think he was still slightly mad about not getting anything else, so he didn’t even take to the juice much.

To make matters worse, our check in time at Children’s wasn’t even until 11am, so it was going to be a LONG time until this snacky boy got to eat. Thankfully, with Joshua and Noah here and getting to watch a Diego show, Zachary was pretty distracted. When we were about to walk out the door – all the while, Zach reminding me that he didn’t want to have surgery (I certainly didn’t blame him!) – I told Matthew to give Zach a hug and tell him he loved him.

Matthew squeezed Zach for an extra long hug and said, “I love you. Good luck, Zachy, I hope your doctor isn’t Dr. CLAW!” [the bad guy from Inspector Gadget who – I’m fairly certain – lied about his MD status.]

With that pleasant thought, we walked out the door.

We picked up my mom who kindly came along. Mike is still in California, unfortunately, for a work conference, and mom didn’t want me to “go through that” by myself.

I was SO impressed with Children’s – as I knew I would be. I’d heard such amazing things about the facility, the programs, the staff that – this’ll sound weird, but it’s true – I was kind of excited about getting to go there. I just knew that I would be thankful that we were there for a small Hernia surgery and not something more serious. Zach seemed to enjoy the brightly painted murals and the fish tanks scattered throughout the waiting area. Mom did a superstar-grandma-move and surprised Zach in the waiting room with a new toy (a Luke Skywalker action figure). Go Grandma! Eventually we were called back to the pre-op (and later post-op) area. After meeting several different nurses and doctors (some of them QUITE handsome, I might add. Mom and I were in agreement that any of them would rival “Dr. O’Hunk” – a doc that I saw in the hospital once in college). I think the hunky doctors were provided to boost the morale of the mothers (and grandmothers!). Literally, a moment after the Anesthesiologist walked out of the room we said at the same time, “GOOD lookin’ guy!” I would’ve guessed that these handsome men were just hired actors to appease the crowd, but I actually got to go in the OR and two of the hot-docs WERE in there doing actual doc-stuff, so I’m fairly certain they were the real thing. Or they just have the parents walk into a mock Grey’s Anatomy set room, and then once mom is gone, the real doctors take the patient to the real OR.

ANYWAY, Zach got super quiet when he was being asked questions by the doctors and nurses and I could tell that we were nearing some resistance. The fight came when it was time for me to take off his clothes and wipe him down with a warm-antibacterial cloth before putting on his backside-opened hospital gown. Yeah, that’s when he started saying, “I DON’T WANT SURGERY. I DON’T WANT SURGERY.” It broke my heart – of course. I just kept saying, “I know you don’t, baby, but you gotta do it. This would get way more owie if we didn’t do surgery now. And your tummy after the surgery won’t even hurt as bad as when you hurt your chin at Grandma’s last week….you’re being so brave.”

Things were made easier when they said 1.) That Zachary could bring Blanky back with him and 2.) That I could accompany Zach into the OR and be with him while that ‘put him under.’ I got to wear a big white suit over my clothes, a blue hair cover net and a blue mouth and nose mask. The doctor said that they would make “your mommy look like a big walking marshmallow.” Awesome. That’s hot. It cheered Zach up though.

Zach looked oh so tiny and vulnerable in his little blue hospital gown and red no-slippy socks. He clutched my hand tightly as we walked through the maze of halls to the operating room. Hot Doc asked Zach how old he was. When Zach quietly said, “Four,” Hot Doc said, “Well, I guess we better go in OR #4 then.” I thought that was impressive that he could just randomly pick the OR he wanted to use, but then we walked in and saw the room was already full of the several nurses and doctors who had come in to talk with us. Nice!

I sat Zach on the table and watched in amazement as the doctors and nurses showed him the squiggly lines on the screen that would show his heart and his breathing. Hot Doc said it was like a video game and every time Zach took a big breath he could make an even bigger mountain show up on the blue line. Zach had selected “bubble gum” smell for his mask and I watched as they placed the little cover over his nose and mouth telling him to breathe “slow and big” so that he could inflate a blue balloon that was attached to the end of a hose. Sure enough, every time Zach breathed in the anesthesia, the balloon got bigger. Eventually – maybe after a minute – Zach looked up at me with vacant eyes and Hot Doc quietly said, “OK, he’s starting to be disoriented and probably doesn’t even really see you right now.” A few moments later Zach started to feel heavy against my hand and a couple of nurses quickly stepped forward to lie him down.

“Now, he’s getting fidgety, just like we talked about,” Hot Doc said. Earlier, in pre-op, he’d walked me through how Zach’s body would react to the anesthesia. He’d said, “It can look a little scary – like he’s having a seizure. They wiggle around. Sometimes their eyes don’t close right away, and then they’ll start taking short quick breaths like they’re panting. It’s all totally normal but can look a little scary if you aren’t prepared for it.”

I thought it was incredible how he talked me through it all right then too.

Zach’s eyes slowly closed and I did notice him starting to take short, quick breaths. Hot Doc put his hand on my back and gently nudged me towards Zach. “Mom, go ahead and lift your mask and give him a kiss on the cheek, then nurse Kelly will take you back to the waiting area.”

Ahhhh. That is the hardest thing to see ever. I KNEW he’d be fine. I KNEW the surgery was very low risk and not that big of a deal. It’s just so hard to leave your baby lying on the table like that. Anyway, I walked out and was fine until I got to the small room that my mom was in. That’s when I let myself have a little cry.

My gosh, if this is how I respond for a hernia (and I have had experience watching the boys as preemies get feeding tubes, breathing tubes, etc.), I cannot even imagine what it’s like for parents who have to watch their child get wheeled in for open heart surgery or go through the awful-torture of treatment for leukemia or the emotional rollercoaster of Cystic Fibrosis. It makes my heart ache for them in a thousand different places.

So, I pulled myself together – disrobed from the marshmallow suit – and mom and I went to find the cafeteria.

Zach was away from me for only 1hr.5minutes. We were paged first to meet with the surgeon. We sat in the small meeting room until he came in. He had a grin on his face as he said, “He did great! You’d never even know he had surgery. And that was a nice BIG Hernia.” Alrighty then. I did find out – and I already thought this was the case – that his hernia WAS most likely caused by his preemie-hood. (It greatly increases the chances of little boys getting these Inguinal Hernias). Now, Zach’s good to go. There IS a chance that an Inguinal Hernia could develope on his right side or that he’ll be prone to Hernias as an adult. But for now…

When they wheeled Zachary back to us in the recovery room, he was definitely still sleepy and out of it. But he gave me a weak smile as he cuddled into my lap. And then, oh man, and then, the most stressful five minutes of the day: they had reassured us that Blanky could go with Zach. They even put a sticker with Zach’s name and patient number on Blanky. But when they returned, there was a Zachy but no Blanky. Obviously, I’d choose the Zanchet over the Blanket, but um, still. This comfort item is kind of crucial to our existence.

Mom and I both spoke up at once, “Um, he had a blue blanket with him…it’s not here not. Oh, and he had underwear on [which they’d told me to leave on] and he doesn’t have that now either. But yeah, this blanket is REALLY important.” And then under my breath, half-joking-but sorta-not-but-of-course-mostly-in-jest, I mumbled, “Seriously, if that Blanky does not come back, we may have to sue this hospital for all it’s worth.”

The nurse dude read us loud and clear and promised to come back with it. He was on a rescue mission and he didn’t dare return empty handed.

Thankfully, the longest five minutes of our lives did come to an end when blessed Blanky returned folded nicely in a marked bag with Zach’s name on it. Thank you, Jesus. Blanky returned safely, Zachary recovering nicely, Matthew vowing to not make farting noises at tutoring, Mike returning home today, oh, and a REALLY ideal adoption situation that I’m PRAYING works out….life is good.

My blog is 346 pages long – single spaced! It is approximately the equivalent of a nearly 700 page novel. Now, I just need to figure out what to do with it and who would want to read 700 pages of me whining about the injustices of my near-perfect life, and we’ll be golden! (Just thought you should know).

Boys. Boys and bugs. Aren’t they supposed to be somewhat compatible? Once I got over the shock of Matthew being a boy with boy parts and not an Abigail Madeline girl with girly parts, I started thinking about the benefits of having a son, and honestly, one of my initial woo-hoo-moments was the proclamation, “I don’t have to kill anymore spiders!” Can someone please explain to both of my boys that they’re kinda droppin’ the ball on this?

Last week, the boys were playing outside while I cut the grass. All was well until I was dramatically summoned. With arms flailing, the boys jumped up and down yelling wordlessly over the roar of the mower. I cut the engine.

“Yes?” I say.

“You gotta come quick!” Zach pants.

“Yeah,” Matthew adds, “There are bugs in the Boys’ Club.” (The “Boys’ Club” is the small cube-like-with-a-slide plastic play structure in the backyard. Its’ four walls (no floor, no ceiling) have occupied a lot of their imagination this summer as it was deemed the “Boys’ Club.”

I don’t even pretend to be sympathetic. “Just get a stick and fling ‘em away.”

“No!” Zach gasps with the thought.

“There’s slugs and rolly-pollies and we don’t like bugs. You gotta get ‘em out and then don’t tell us where you put them.”

I cave. I’d really like to finish cutting the grass. Sure enough, underneath the Boys’ Club, on the ground below, there are two sun-crisp-dried-out slugs and maybe three little rolly-pollies. While I scoop them up with my gardening trowel and toss them into a nearby bush, I grumble to myself about having such brave boys who will protect ME from creepy-crawlies.

“There,” I say. “You’re good to go, but you know, I can’t guarantee there won’t EVER be bugs again in the Boys’ Club…since it IS outside ‘n all.”

They thank me and start to play. A little bit later I see Matthew moping around the yard.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Why aren’t you playing in the Boys’ Club?”

“I can’t stop thinking about those slugs.” Taking a deep melancholy breath, he announces, “The Boys’ Club is closed.” If he had said, “The Boys’ Club is condemned until future notice” it would have sounded no different.

Needless-to-say, I was a little worried how my insect-wussy boys would handle our first camping trip this summer. We went to Millersylvania State Park on Deep Lake (in Olympia-ish) with a few other families. I still feel that we’re major camping rookies, so it took us a week, to make lists of supplies, pull everything together for getting the car packed and all of us out the door.

It wasn’t until later Friday evening – after we’d been there for several hours and the air was starting to get a chill to it – that I realized the boys’ big duffle bag full of clothes never left their room. Looking at them in their already dirt-covered shorts and t-shirts, I felt like the Crappy-Mom-of-the-Year award winner and the Lamest-Rookie-Camper award recipient all in one. Thankfully, these are the stats of the other children present for the weekend, BOYS ages: 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6 and one girl, Amanda (who can hold her one) age 5. I managed to get enough cellphone service to call one of the families (with two boys ages 3 & 6) who hadn’t left their house yet. They threw some extra clothes in a bag for us and for the weekend Matthew (who usually wears a size 8) squeezed into Andrew’s size 6 clothes and Zachary wore Adam’s 3T duds. It was pretty funny to see them emerge from the tent in pants that were more like Capri’s, but still! At least they were clothed.

The group campsite was awesome. It was huge – big enough for probably 10 good-size tents. We had our own covered kitchen-eating area and a restroom that was just down a short trail. While exploring, I had found a little kid-made pretend fire pit created out of rocks and sticks. I showed it to Zach who also found it pretty cool. Looking down the nearby trail, Zach, all of a sudden gasps.

He whispers, “Look! C’mere!” Crouching and creeping through the underbrush like two clandestine hunters stalking their prey, we inched forward.

He motions for me to stop and in awed, hushed tones, points again, “Look! See it?”

I peer through the dimmed light of dusk trying to see the small creature or woodsy delight that has my son entranced.

“See it?” he stage-whispers with excitement.

“Um, no,” I admit, “What is it? What are we looking at?”

“Right there!” He points down the path with growing impatience. “It’s…” he pauses for effect and drama, “It’s….a bathroom.” Zachary says this with the awe of one discovery the Lost Temple of Something Cool.

That’s when I realize he is, in fact, pointing at the building 20 yards away. “The bathroom?! I thought we were looking for an animal or something.”

Grinning mischievously he says, still in faux-awe-filled voice, “No, it’s a building!” Yep, these are my outdoorsy boys.

We did have SUCH A FUN weekend. The weather could not have been better. Deep Lake was comfortably warm for our Saturday afternoon beach trip. We ate and drank well. And all the kiddos: Tyler, Matthew, Andrew, Joshua, Amanda, Zachary, Noah and Adam had a BLAST all weekend. The trip could not have been more perfect (well, maybe if we’d remembered clothing for our children, but it all worked out in the end)!

Call me selfish, ungrateful, demanding, greedy and/or self-indulgent – take your pick – but I kinda want a wedding do-over. And, I feel guilty about this. I really do. But is it really asking so much to get to have a wedding day devoid of “extra stress” – like the kind where one of you is so ill in the morning, you think you may have to cancel the whole thing and you end up spending your wedding night in the ER, cancelling your honeymoon, spending half of your three-week-old marriage in the hospital and then going through Chemo and Radiation as newlyweds. I want the kind of wedding stress that comes from getting a run in your nylons or breaking a nail. I would thoroughly and totally embrace that kind of wedding stress. Even the stress of the photographer showing up late or the reception hall not being 100% perfect sounds fantastic to me. Bring it on!

So for nearly nine years now, I’ve been a bit of a wedding prima donna – ok, A LOT of a wedding diva. I have no tolerance what-so-ever for people’s wedding whining and woes because – not that it’s a contest – but it just can’t really top mine. I’ve also been – and I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it probably comes as no surprise – bitter. BIT.TER. I didn’t want or need an over-the-top $10,000, $20,000, or $30,000+ wedding. We did everything as inexpensively as possible. Our wedding cost less than half of our new minivan! I didn’t demand much. Just like most girls I’d dreamt about my wedding all my life. Was it really asking so much to have a special day? A day without extra drama and heartache. A day where we could just focus on our love and our happiness and excitement to start our lives together.

Yes, thanks for asking, I would LOVE some cheese with my whine.

See, and this is where the whiney diva comes in, I DID have a special day. We did have a beautiful wedding and reception surrounded by loving family and friends and yet, weddings will forever be just a little hard for me. I’ll also think of ours as more stressful and bitter than sweet and special which breaks my heart. But it’s the truth. I can’t go to a wedding without feeling slightly jealous. And I certainly don’t wish the kind of stress that we experienced on anyone else. I don’t want to bring people down to this wedding pity party and I try not to.

With time it’s gotten better. We had three beautiful weddings to go to this year. Jason’s and Julia’s wedding in April was gorgeous. It was such a beautiful mass at the Cathedral followed by a smashing affair of a reception. And I can honestly say that theirs was the first wedding that was “easy” for me (OK, “easier”). I guess time helps to soften the blow. Each wedding we attend isn’t about us – it’s not about me – and I know that, I’ve always known that, and I’m thankful that with every year, they are becoming more comfortable for me. More sweet, less bitter.

Then, this past weekend, we had not one but TWO weddings to go to. We attended Mike & Catherine’s on Friday night and Ryan and April’s on Saturday night. (Ryan was one of our groomsmen! He’s been here since the beginning. We’ve gotten to know Mike and Catherine through church and helping them with marriage prep/pre-counseling). Again, I felt happy at both. And for this, I am SO thankful. Who wants to be the miserable curmudgeon who – fake-smiles – through the beautiful day all the while feeling the stab of 582 bitter-daggers twisting within? Not me. Another common denominator is that all three couples whose weddings we attended this year have provided us with something extra. We got to play a small – trivial – role in helping each couple arrive at the altar. I like to joke that “if it weren’t for us, this marriage wouldn’t have happened at all!” (I never claimed to be humble). At some point, during the last year we met with each couple for some one-on-one marriage prep stuff. And knowing the struggles of these couples – their trials and triumphs and how hard they’ve worked on their relationship – is such a blessing and makes their wedding day even more special to us personally.

The last thing that DEFINITELY helps with weddings is that we HAVE decided to do a bit of a wedding do-over. August 11th, 2011 will be our 10th wedding anniversary and – while ten years in the big picture isn’t THAT much – it’ll be a major accomplishment for us. We’ve been through A.LOT. in 10 years. Cancer, babies – preemie babies, boy baby that we thought would be girl baby, hospital bed rest, postpartum depression, therapy, adoption process, etc. So, because Mikey loves me so much and spoils me so much and knows how much it would mean (to BOTH of us), we will be having a Wedding Vows Renewal/Wedding Part Deux/”Wedding THE SEQUEL” on Friday, August 12th, 2011. That’s right, mark your calendars! (Unless I don’t know you, in which case you won’t be invited…sorry). This will be our way of celebrating (each other) and thanking everyone who has helped us get through our first ten years of marriage. And I’m sure it’ll help my wedding-bitterness…unless we spend wedding night do-over in the hospital also in which case we’ll just have another reason to do another big party…and another and another until I’m, you know, over it.

Is it their caveman roots? In the pursuit of the hunt, it was always a competition of who would get their first, right? Who could make the better kill? Who would bring home the better prey? Is this why boys – particularly ours currently – are so completely engrossed in a nonstop competition? It does not matter WHAT the topic or circumstance – who has a bigger piece of cake, who is the first one to arrive and sit upon the shoe-putting-on-stool, who has more “homework” (‘cuz you just have SO much when you’re 4 and 6) – they even argued about who was sweatier after a hot morning at Sports Camp this week! Seriously?! It’s nonstop with the competition right now!

Thankfully, their first little intro to team sports was all focused on teamwork and having fun rather than skill (which they lack) and competition and victory (which they are constantly striving for anyway). After a cold, rainy 4th of July, Seattle did the often typical – get beautiful and hot starting on July 5th which also was our first morning of Sports Camp. 4th festivities include going to a neighbors’ for a damp bbq and then home to get in pajamas and watch fireworks from the couch in the living room. [Please note Matthew’s patriotic outfit of choice; Army Man Dan will be proud]. It worked out well since we could get the boys to bed a little earlier for their early morning. The boys enjoyed their first camp experience although so far it doesn’t appear that we have any natural Olympic athlete offspring…yet. You can see in their picture with the coaches that their enthusiasm just could NOT be contained. (They DID have a good time, for the record, just NOT for that picture).

Zachary, as usual, has been a clown lately. We got our first ever slip ’n slide yesterday. His technique is classic: sprint to the end of the slip ‘n slide, abruptly halt, jump once in place, pause, then flop on to his tummy upon which he scoots about a foot before coming to a stop. He then pushes himself like a frog down the rest of the slide. After we came inside and the boys showered off, I started to put lotion on him (which is tricky when he’s a moving target, dancing his naked little bum all around the place). I’d barely touched his arm when a little hand shot up in front of my face motioning me to stop.

“Woah, dude,” he exclaimed, “That’s too cold. You gotta warm that action up.”

Apparently the cold lotion – while I thought it would be refreshing seeing as our house was 98 degrees – was a bit too chilly. I rubbed it together in my hands and blew on it. He gave me an approving nod before I continued with the lotionizing. “Now, THAT is what I’m talkin’ about!” he said with gusto.

So, I haven’t been completely honest with you. And I’m sorry. (And I’m sorry for the length of this post). It’s not that I’ve lied; I just did that whole convenient withholding of certain facts and details. I kind of gave you an edited version of me for the last two and a half weeks. I don’t think you got totally gypped – there was still plenty going on and more than enough to report. I mean my gosh! It’s been a pretty epic couple of weeks: Matthew graduated from kindergarten, we started summer vacation, we’ve had some major snafus to deal with for the National Engaged Encounter Convention (for which we are the Co-Chairs), I ran my third half marathon and we also found out that Zachary needs to have surgery! (His “Inguinal Hernia Repair” will take place at Children’s Hospital on July 28th…when Mike is in California for a conference. Oh well. That was the earliest they could do). It’s not like you’ve been wanting for something to read here (and I do appreciate that you visit here to read), and I’ve certainly had more than enough to share. However, with all that said, I’ve totally been holding back.

See, for the last two and a half weeks, we’ve been on one heck of an emotional roller coaster ride, and I just needed to ride it out before bringing you all along. On Friday, June 11th, we received an “Urgent” email from our adoption social worker, Joy. We got this email two minutes before our friends Jason and Julia arrived for dinner. I didn’t have a chance to read it as I was busy assuming my role as Chef-Goddess-Extraordinaire. (Or, so I like to pretend). Mike took a quick glance at it and quickly dismissed it. When I asked him for details he said, “Well, it doesn’t apply to us. It’s for siblings.” Oh, OK.

Yeah, OK, UNTIL I read it the next morning and my heart started to thud and my stomach flutter. See, we never had adopting more than one child on our radar for several reasons, most of which are practical: we can only afford to adopt one child (I’m sorry, but it is a pricey business), and we couldn’t be foster-licensed for more than one (or “sibling groups”) as we don’t have enough bedrooms. Plus, there’s the whole general concept that kids are awesome but most of the time kinda cramp your style, your space and definitely cost a lot of money. Case closed……

UNTIL I read this email. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Out of respect for the Birth Mom (henceforth: BM), I won’t go into too many details but will provide a general picture. Occasionally, a birth mom comes in who wishes to relinquish child(ren) who are not newborns. The agency provides these moms with support and resources and often – 99.9% of the time – they decide to continue parenting their child(ren). This time, however it seemed like BM’s mind was made up. And here’s the deal: she has not one, but two beautiful little girls – both healthy and happy. The oldest is 2 ½ and the youngest will turn one next month. Oh, and BM is pregnant with #3. That’s right, the agency was asking for families to think over the weekend if a.) you’d be open to the two girls (as they would NOT separate them) and b.) if you’d consider the third baby should BM decide to relinquish that child as well (which is still very up in the air because of several different factors).

Mike and I spent all weekend talking and praying about it. I spent all weekend unable to think of anything else. We had to decide by Monday morning if we were interested in learning more. I called Joy on Monday and said that we were definitely interested…in learning more…and just seeing where this went. We waited through that first work week in agony. BM was supposed to be meeting with the BM counselor and providing all medical records/social history and pictures and names of the girls. We had to wait through another weekend. EVERY SINGLE DAY I checked email in eager anticipation for more news. See, the problem is, you have to play this emotional yo-yo. You HAVE to get excited. You HAVE to open your heart to the possibility. But you also know that it might not happen. And yet, there’s some relief in that too. I was terrified for us to get picked. I was terrified for us to not get picked. And I was SO tired of just waiting, and waiting for more info.

When we finally received the email at the END of week two, the wait had been so full of anxiety and frustration that it was almost anticlimactic. But then, I saw the girls – pictures of these two beautiful, adorable little girls who just need a mom and dad and a Matthew and Zachary to love them and take care of them and keep them safe. Within moments, we realized that this was an awesome situation – better than we could’ve hoped for based on lots of stories we’ve heard. BM is young and healthy. The girls are healthy, great ages, etc.. It kind of seemed too good to be true. I sent Joy an email that said, “Bring it on. We’re in. All in.”

During all of this, I asked Mike one night, “What if Baby Girl is actually girlS…and then possibly one more?!!”

In the morning, I put this question to the boys at breakfast. “So, kiddos,” I said, “What if Baby Sister is actually TWO baby sisters?!!”

They both looked at me with big goofy grins and then Matthew said, “That’d be awesome!”

Zach agreed with, “That’d be perfect ‘cuz then the teams would be fair.” Oh, OK. I didn’t know we had teams.

“Yeah!” Matthew added getting excited, “There’d be three boys AND three girls.”

Seeing that this was going so well, I decided to throw them a curve ball. “And then what if there happened to be one MORE baby?”

This made them pause. They discussed it quietly and Matthew – speaking on behalf of his team, said, “That one would have to be a boy.”

I debated about showing the girls’ pictures to the boys as we don’t want them to feel any disappointment throughout this process (if possible). But since, we HAD decided to put our name in the hat, and there was a chance this might happen, I wanted them to be a little bit of a part of it. When I showed the boys the pictures, I didn’t say, “These are the girls we’re hoping will be your little sisters…” or anything like that, I just said, “These are the girls that we need to pray for…’cuz they need a new family and we want God to help their mom pick the right one.”

Without skipping a beat Matthew said, “I hope she picks us!”

We had to spend another weekend just waiting. Thankfully I had the half marathon as a blessed (and muscle-soreness-inducing) distraction. On Monday (yesterday) at 10am, the interested families had to have their profiles in to be shown to BM. Joy had told me on Friday that she’d be able to tell me on Monday morning just what the pool looked like – yep, she’d give us the stats on the “competition.” I waited ALL DAY for an email or a phone call. I finally caved at 1pm-ish and sent a ‘just-checking-in-but-totally-harassing’ email. No response. Nothing.

[Again, God provided another major distraction. Mike’s come down with a nasty cold/stomach flu situation. It’s awful and now I’m just praying that my sore throat does not develop into the same thing...So, while the lack of communication was VERY frustrating, I did have other things going on. And, I, of course, have the constant Matthew-Zachary distraction duo to keep me busy. But still, this mind just won’t shut off.]

Finally, this morning, I got an email from Joy. Turns out she, too, had been sick over the weekend and wasn’t at work yesterday. She apologized for not being able to communicate – she knew it must’ve been torture. She said that BM did come in and collect the family profiles, but they had no idea how long she would take to decide. Great! More waiting! But, uh, picking the future family of your children is KINDA a big thing, so I can see why you wouldn’t want to rush that decision.

Joy COULD tell us that there were TEN families in the pool and that we were number five (based on completion of home study). Basically, they just stack them so the families who have been waiting the longest are on top and then it gradually moves to those newest to Child Search. OK, a one-in-ten chance. Got it. But do we got it? Are we what this Birth Mom is looking for? You just never know what little thing in your “birth parent letter” or in one of your photos will be THE THING that tugs at the Birth Mom. What little minute detail is enough to convince a mother to give HER child to become YOUR child?

I’m thankful that today’s wait wasn’t long. Joy called twenty minutes after emailing. BM had made her decision and contacted the BM Counselor this morning. Joy started the conversation like this, “Hey Jen, it’s Joy. So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news…but it’s not you guys this time ‘round.”

I immediately launched into autopilot, “Oh, OK. That’s totally fine. You know, it’s kind of a relief! I mean two more – maybe even three kids! It was a little daunting. So, it just wasn’t meant to be. I’m just glad BM found a family for her two girls…” Meanwhile, I’m wondering how many times Joy has had to start a conversation with “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” How hard would it be to hear that when you’ve tried to have children for years, finally decided to adopt, finally feel like you’ve found the one(s) and then find out that “oh, sorry, you’re not the ones?!!” Gah. The heart break.

I’ve told myself that through this process, I’m allowed to get sad. Obviously, it goes without saying. It’s only been twice now that we’ve had “the feeling” and put our name in with a lot of hope. Both times have hurt. I can’t imagine that it will get any better. You have to open yourself up for these little girls – especially when you see their sweet little faces and you know their beautiful names. You have to take a moment to imagine – to put yourself in that place – of calling THIS specific child “your own.” You imagine them, for the first time calling YOU Mama. It can’t help but hurt. Kind of a lot.

I know, I know. It wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t God’s plan. Blahblahblah. When the time is right we’ll get the baby girl who is ours – The One. But until then…for now…we wait.

One last little race tidbit. My favorite, actually. The best part of the race for me was at around mile 12. We were in downtown Seattle where the streets were lined with spectators and supporters. I was running on the far outside of the pack – closest to my cheering and adoring fans. I always make it a point to say, “thank you” or at least smile to someone who looks me in the eye and wishes me well. I also gave out a fair amount of high fives while I ran by cheerleading squads and volunteers. At some point during mile 12, I locked eyes with a woman who gave me an encouraging smile and yelled, “Good job!”

I looked at her and as I ran by shouted with eager anticipation, “Am I gonna win??!!” For a split second she looked confused – really contemplating if I was serious. Oh, that poor sad, crazy lady thinks she’s just got several thousand people to speed by and she has a shot at winning this thing. This thought lasted just a second before she laughed.

And, no, I didn’t win – which Zach has reminded me of a couple of times. He’s said, “Well, you didn’t win, but you did your best. And you DID get a medal.” True dat.

It’s good for the boys to see that even though I know I won’t win (obviously), I still like to set goals and push myself to do even better…like next year, on June 25th, 2011 when I’ll get BELOW two hours! (Don’t mock me, but I’m already registered!) And I’ll start training…just as soon as I can walk without immense pain. Until then, I’m going to enjoy my personal victory and a glass ‘o celebratory Pinot Noir.

So, I’ve officially got another Half Marathon under my belt!! As of this morning, that makes 3 Half Marathons and one (and only one!!!) Full Marathon. But who’s counting, right? Um, me. TOTALLY me. ‘Cuz they’re freakin’ hard and I can’t even believe that I – chubby Jenny – am capable of running 1 mile let alone 13.1 (and once – and only once! – 26.2). It’s just crazy talk. Who does that? I’ll tell you who: 27000+ crazy people at the Seattle Rock ‘n Roll Marathon this morning!, that’s who.

And I’m very happy to say that I “PR-ed” (running lingo for Personal Record). My best previous Half was my first one in June, 2007. I finished 13.1 miles in 2hrs.5mins. with a 9:44/mile average. I was REALLY hoping to get UNDER two hours today, and I was SO close. I finished in 2hrs.1min.44sec. with a 9:18/mile average. Darn it! Guess this just means I’ll have to run AT LEAST one more Half to try to shave off that 1min.44.  I’m proud of myself though and so glad it’s done!

Mikey and the boys were at mile 8.5 to cheer me on and snap a few pictures. Unfortunately ‘cuz I was SUCH a blur of fastness (yeah, right), Mike was only able to get one picture of me and my eyes are closed!! I promise I didn’t run the whole thing with my eyes closed…just some of it…you know, I needed an extra challenge. (Sorry to all the people I bumped into and knocked outta my way). Just kidding.

Mike really is the one that deserves a medal though. Apparently, keeping track of the boys on the sidelines of a huge race is not easy work. And, I’m very sad to report, that at one point my children were “those kids.” You know, they were those kids that are doing something so lame and not cool that typically when I see that behavior I think, “Those poor parents. Thank goodness MY children would never do something so awful.” Um, yeah, for some reason the boys decided to just ever so nonchalantly fling just a bit ‘o sand on some of the people running by. Yeah, because that’s normal! And a great idea! Sheesh! Again, I apologize to the runners.

The boys have definitely been keeping me plenty busy this first week of summer vacation. We need a sign like those seen at warehouse stores/work places, “Injury free for ____ days.” So, far, with three consecutive days of bike riding we’ve had three days of pretty bad injury. Matthew was on for days 1 & 2. He wiped out both times in the exact same spot – exiting my neighbors’ driveway. He scraped up his hand the first day. Day 2, he scraped up his hand worse and added one knee and a really badly scraped elbow. Poor kiddo. That cry was loud enough that a couple of neighbors checked to make sure that everything was OK. Zachary, did a creative spill for Day 3. And Mike’s sister and brother-in-law (who’d been in town briefly from Coeur d’Alene) got to see it. Zach did some sort of fall situation where he managed to hit his eye on the handlebars. He’s rockin’ a shiner and a couple of scratches really close to his eyeball.

We’re getting into a summer groove though. The boys and I have a schedule for everyday. And most days from 8:30ish or 9ish ‘til 9:30 or 10ish or so we do “work time.” (As in school-type work, work time). Matthew, we were told, does not need glasses, but he definitely needs some help academically. I have a neighbor/friend who teaches Kindergarten and is a tutor. They live just a few streets over and have two kiddos that we’ve done playdates with. She’ll work with Matthew from 9-10 twice a week for six weeks. I’m SO thankful that we’ll be able to get him some help. Hopefully to just get him feeling more confident and caught up for first grade, but also, Megan will be able to tell us if it will be worth the time and money to get him tested for learning disabilities. We’ll see…

I take Zachary in this afternoon (on a Saturday! Go figure!) to see the Pediatric Urologist to determine if he (Zach, not the doctor) needs surgery for his hernia. Our Pediatrician seemed fairly confident that that will be our outcome. I’ll keep ya posted!

And now, if you'd excuse me, I need to go ice my legs. Where’s my masseuse?? Pool boy? Umbrella drink? I did get spoiled though. I came home to pictures drawn by the boys (and the sign they held at the race), a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine (which I’ll save for later) and some chocolate!! Well done, Michael. Well, done. He really does deserve a medal.

Yeah, yeah, we love our kids unconditionally. Even when they are little stink-heads and you kinda wanna wallop ‘em, you still love them so hard it makes your heart ache. It can take my breath away sometimes – that blobby-knot creeps up in the back of my throat and my eyes start a-blinkin’ back the tears. And sometimes they just stress you out. They stress you out so much that you’re convinced that God actually made a mistake and you weren’t meant to be a mother, but actually a celibate cloistered nun. But He didn’t. Nope, no mistake. I love these kids, but holy majoly they stress me out!

This ‘lil here bloggeroo will be focused on one of our offspring: “The Monkey…Jenny Junior…Angel Baby…Baby Cakes…Zacharoo…” Zachary is one tough little hard-core piece of four-year-old manly boyness. He is gregarious. He cracks himself up. He tells knock-knock jokes that are usually ridiculously lame and of the four year old persuasion but every once in a while he’ll tell a great joke, like this, “What do rainy clouds wear under their clothes?...THUNDERwear!” (For the record, he did hear this on “Sid the Science Kid,” but he didn’t share it with us for a few days, AND he has impeccable comedic timing).

Zachary gets bruised and bonked and dinged up and isn’t super quick to cry about it. He’s tough and yet he’s also the kid who will call urgently for me from downstairs. I go rushing down thinking that there’s a fire or some equally awful emergency like he’s gonna pee his pants or he sees a spider or something. Then when I get down there, Zach smiles up at me for a moment like he forgot what he needed so badly and says simply, “I love you.”

Zach has had a tough couple of days, but you sure wouldn’t know it. I had decided that since Matthew only has one more full week of school ‘til summer break, Zach and I should do some fun activities together. So, yesterday morning, I surprised Zach with a trip to the zoo. I told him that he would get to pick every single animal that we saw and each activity we did. Thankfully, we did have time to eat a picnic lunch by the otters and we’d just gotten over to the new Meerkat exhibit when I happened to notice that I had a message on my cell phone. Zach and I were headed to the indoor play area that he was SO excited to visit while I listened to my message. It was the school. “Hello, Mrs. Martin this is Mrs. Blah-blah-blah, and I’ve got Matthew here in the school clinic. He has a slight fever and you’ll need to come pick him up.”

Poop. And of all the Mondays. Typically we’d be home doing laundry or out running errands (conveniently close to the school), but no, not this time. We were a good 20 minute drive away plus the 15 minute walk through the zoo to the car. I told Zach that we were going to have to leave because Matthew was sick. I prepared myself for some major-disappointment sadness-action. But instead, Zach just sighed and said, “Poor Matthew.” Now, he’s no 4 yr. old saint, he did complain a bit about not getting to play at the Zoomazium, but he left the zoo quickly and with no fight at all. I didn’t have to promise crazy things – just that we’d start at the Zoomazium next time. He didn’t get any bribery from me – no pet pony or elephant for him!

(Matthew – is totally fine, by the way. Had a brief, random fever so I had to keep him home from school today. Oh, and he doesn’t need eyeglasses…more on that whole situation eventually…someday…not right now).

Today, Zachary had his (yes, a little late) four year “well check” visit with our pediatrician. Zachary has literally grown at least an inch in the last month, so I wasn’t surprised to learn that he’s in the 90th percentile for height and still 50th percentile for weight. (Dude, I would LOVE to have those kinds of measurements). And his butt cheeks are still as cute as they were when he was six months old. They haven’t grown any bigger or any less cute in 3.5 years. Just so ya know.

Dr. Benda surprised me a little bit after listening to his heart. “Well, huh…He does have quite a strong heart murmur. And since his chest wall is so thin, it’s really pronounced. But it’s kind of regular in its’ irregularity. So, I’ll just make a note of it and we’ll check it every time.” Um, huh? Heart murmur? Thin chest wall? Yeah, OK.

Then when it came time to look at Zach’s manly-boy parts, I noticed again a bit of hesitation from her. She poked around his tummy below his belly button, and after looking quite puzzled said, “Huh!” Gotta love it when a doctor says that! Turns out, Zach most likely has a hernia that will require surgery. We’ll be setting up an appointment with a Pediatric Urologist at Children’s Hospital next week to find out if surgery is in order (Dr. Benda seems to think so). Great.

And lastly, the appointment was topped off with not 1, not 2, no FIVE shots. Zach cried a tiny bit and then shook it off as soon as I reminded him that they said he’d get FIVE stickers. When we got home, Zach proceeded to share his FIVE stickers with the rest of us. Mike proudly sported a Spiderman sticker on his chest all night. And I have an “Awesome Patient” Kung-Fu Panda sticker sitting right next to my laptop. A heart murmur, an upcoming surgery, FIVE shots, and then, while we’re cuddling on the couch reading a bedtime story I accidentally – I swear! – jab him in the eyeball with my thumb. He rubs it a bit and gives me a look like, “Seriously, woman? Haven’t I been through enough?!” Then, in his sweet little way – working the system a bit – he says he’s just TOO tired to walk to bed and would I carry him. Well, I can’t say no to that. It’s the least I can do. So, NOW, what do I do? I clasp him by his upper arms – right where he received his FIVE shots – and tug him up. My dad asked why I didn’t bother just dropping him on his head since I was on such a roll. Thank goodness, Zachary is asleep for the night, where I can’t do him anymore damage…let’s hope.

Katherine, could you please move to Hawaii? Or Paris? Ooh, or maybe Italy?! See, for the 2nd year in a row now I’ve been able to visit Katherine – my good friend and birthday buddy (ours are two days apart) – in awesome places. Last year, we met up in Chicago which was amazing and I loved it, especially with the major added bonus of getting to see some of my cousins and aunt and uncles. After seeing the sites of Chicago with my cousin, Anne, I took the train out to Katherine where we spent the weekend at her parents’ house in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Gorgeous! Now, Katherine and her husband Dan (known as “Army Man Dan” by our boys since he’s in the Special Forces) and their adorable baby Grace live in Monterey, California. So, that is where I spent last weekend. Really, two years in a row now of a birthday get-away, I could get used to this. Maybe this could become an annual thing – my jetting off solo to a fun, beautiful destination. I have a feeling that Mike would not be such a fan of this little brain child. I’ve been awfully spoiled though and it’s been awesome!

(I AM going to attempt to keep this weekend overview brief. Wish me luck.)

At noon on Friday, my plane touched down in sunny, hot San Jose. Katherine arrived and we drove to their house along Highway 1. Um, gorgeous! We drove by fields, ocean bluffs and sandy beaches. We stopped at a quaint produce stand that was right along the water. I couldn’t believe the price and freshness of the produce! Since it’s all grown locally it’s fairly inexpensive and delicious. We bought some cherries and enormous strawberries.

We drove into Monterey and up to “La Mesa” which is the housing development home to many scholarly military families. Dan is currently enrolled in a Masters program where he mingles with other military branches and is learning how to be a better Army Man. (OK, that is MY watered down version of what he’s learning.) I told Dan that he’d need to clear his schedule as we had LOTS of catching up to do over my weekend there. I’ve not seen him in, hmmm, 7 years and he’s been to Iraq twice since then. A highlight of the weekend was getting to spend lots of time just talking and hearing about his experiences, discussing politics and ethics and all sorts of stuff that I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you. (No, he definitely wouldn’t have shared anything too top secret with me as he knew it’d most likely end up here)!

Dan and Katherine are now the proud parents to 9 month old Grace who, uh, I’m sorry, but is one of the cutest little pixie babies I’ve ever seen! She is SO cute and was a super happy baby especially considering that she was getting over a cold and teething.

Friday afternoon, we were dropped off at the Monterey Fisherman’s Wharf by our chauffeur Dan. We walked along the waterfront seeing seals/sea lions, the famous Cannery Row and even a low-budget (to say the least) movie being filmed! Back at the Mitchell home, once Grace was tucked in for the night, Dan, Katherine and I had a delicious dinner and polished off a couple bottles of wine. (You’re welcome, guys. Happy to help!)

Saturday, after a leisurely morning – including having breakfast out on the patio – we packed a picnic lunch and went to Point Lobos State Park. It’s a 10 minute drive from their house and is full of one breath-taking view after the next. We hiked for two hours along the bluffs above the ocean. There we saw more seals/sea lions (see, I’m not always sure which is which so I lump ‘em together), we saw a couple of otters and I’m fairly certain I spotted one whale way, way out. (OK, but maybe it was just something dark-ish in the water and a wave shot spray up right as I saw it. I’m totally going with the “I saw a whale” route though).

Upon returning from the hike, Katherine and I beautified for a girls’ night out. She’d heard great things about a place called Mission Ranch in beautiful Carmel (which we could see across the bay while atop a cliff during our hike). Mission Ranch is this big ‘ol awesome compound. There’s a bed-and-breakfast inn, fancy tennis courts and fitness center, a beautiful banquet hall for wedding receptions and a cozy restaurant/piano bar that looks out across pastures full of sheep (we even saw a baby lamb!) and the frothy blue Pacific Ocean beyond. Needless-to-say, the place is gorgeous, the food has a great reputation, and oh, I almost forgot: it’s owned by Clint Eastwood. Don’t know if you’ve heard of him. He was the mayor of Carmel from 1986-1988. He’s also been in a few movies. For kind of a while. And he’s won a few awards. And he occasionally plays the piano at the bar in the Mission Ranch Restaurant. So, why wouldn’t we go there for dinner?

Katherine and I split a couple of appetizers and salads – including an amazing, mouth-watering baked goat cheese with sliced almonds and sun-dried tomatoes on crostini. Yum! We also – surprise surprise – each enjoyed some wine. We had just paid our bill (or I should say Katherine did, since they spoiled me rotten all weekend) and were about to leave our table when who should walk in but Dirty Harry himself! I tried to remain calm and play it cool. I’m fairly certain I failed as I leaned over and in a quick monotone on repeat said, “Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, he’s here, he’s here, he’s here, look to your right, your right, your right…” something like that. He sauntered in, gun-slingin’ and flingin’, cowboy hat pulled down over squinty eyes…um, actually, no, he wore a baseball cap and walked up to the bar to take a stool next to friends. He walked in like he owned the place. What the heck, just who does he think he is?!

And, no, we didn’t ask for his autograph. We didn’t even ask him where the restrooms were – though I was tempted. We were trying to play it cool like all the locals who barely blink an eye when he walks in there. We did manage, however, to get slightly lost and turned around while looking for the restroom and Clint and I locked eyes across the bar for a moment. (Yes, we’re on a first-name basis with him).

Anyway, you can’t really top that. But we did conclude the evening with dark chocolate fondue (which can top anything!) and martinis followed with a movie theater-viewing of the most recent hot chic-flick. We ate and drank well. Laughed a lot. Got home late. And slept in the next morning! Dan was super-dad all weekend making sure that Katherine and I got to go out for all our fun activities.

On Sunday, after breakfast, we went to Mass at the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, also known as the “Royal Presidio Chapel.” Founded in 1770, this beautiful little church “is the oldest continuously functioning church and the first stone building in the State of California.” (According to their website).

After church, Katherine and I de-beautified, and took their chocolate lab, Riley, out for a 3.5 mile run. I’d run my 12 mile training run (for the Half Marathon I’m doing in two weeks), the day before I’d left for Monterey, so the hike on Saturday and short run on Sunday were perfect for stretching out my legs. Actually, my legs felt fine post-12 miles it was the blisters on my toes and the ookey feeling in my stomach that weren’t great. (I tried a different energy drink and will never-ever again have it). Anyway, our run was hot but scenic. We ran along a wooded trail that loops around the military housing development. Even considering that Katherine had a baby only nine months ago (and I’ve had four years to recover from mine), that hard core running-mama can still kick my butt.

When lunch drew to a close, I knew it was time to lug my things out of my cozy guest room and to bid farewell to Dan and sweet baby Grace. Katherine and I got another quality hour together in the car on the drive to the San Jose airport. It kind of killed me that we were more than half way to San Francisco and getting closer to Napa Valley ever minute. So close and yet…While I missed my boys, I tried to convince Katherine that we should just keep driving and go on a spontaneous road-trip. In the end, I know we both agreed that our supportive husbands can only handle so many of these impromptu get-aways. Hmmm, what will next year’s birthday bring…?

It has been brought to my attention that I rule. Granted this commentary has been made by biased folk – best friend, husband, mother – so it must be taken with a grain of salt, but hey! I’ll take it.

Two weeks ago today, I was freaking out. I was freaking out about Matthew and trying to figure out how to best help him – how to help him cope with school and with life and how to be a better mom. And then I got all proactive on this stuff. I got all up in its’ grill and was all, “Yo! I’m gonna figure this out.” (That sounded way cooler in my head…OK, actually, no, it didn’t even sound cool there).

I made phone calls. I made appointments. I did research and here’s where we’re at two weeks later: Matthew may very well need glasses. We went to the pediatrician to have his vision and hearing checked and discovered that his hearing is perfect (hmmm, remind me of that when I’m telling him it’s time to clean-up Legos and he doesn’t budge), but his eyesight potentially needs some help. His right eye is 20/50 and his left is 20/30. (I’ve always had 20/20 so these numbers mean nothing to me. I was told it means that he has difficulty seeing far-ish away. Is that near or far-sighted? I always forget if you’re near-sighted if you can or can’t see up close…whatever, I’ll learn). So, we now have an appointment for next Monday to meet with an Ophthalmologist who specializes in pediatric ophthalmology. (Dude! That is HARD to spell). And after meeting with Matthew’s pediatrician and discussing EVERYTHING that we’ve had going on this year with him, we came up with a great plan – one that I’ve also acted on.

We have a neighbor/friend who is a kindergarten teacher and tutor. She’s going to work with Matthew one-on-one for six weeks this summer. This way, he can learn in a fun but calm learning environment and get the help that he needs. She’ll also be able to decipher if he has any particular areas that are exceptionally difficult (therefore indicating if extra-help or testing is necessary). Then, ideally, after a summer of making learning enjoyable and building his confidence, he’ll be in a good place for starting first grade with a new class, teacher and hopefully much better experience. THEN, next year, once we’re settled into school, we can reevaluate and know if/when it’s worth spending the oodles of money to get him tested.

For once in my parenting career I feel confident in saying that I did everything right.

And as a reward, I’m flying to Monterey to visit friends in two days! (OK, it’s not actually a reward for this, it’s an reward for turning 30 and for having the best husband in the world, but let me tell you: I will be celebrating a-plenty with Katherine, Dan and baby Grace)! Weekend get-away in Monterey C-A. I’m on my way! (Yeah, that JUST happened. And again, slightly cooler sounding in my head. Sorry.).

“The Birds and the Bees.” “Where do you babies come from?” I knew it was only a matter of time before we’d need to answer these questions. Preschool to early elementary school is often when these things get answered for kids. But that doesn’t mean that I’M ready!!

Matthew came home from school one day and announced, “I NEED to learn about the inside of the human body.”

“Um, OK,” I said, “Why?”

With growing urgency in his voice he responds, “Because I’m going to be a paramedic when I grow up and I NEED to learn how we work. Now!”

Woah. Since we have been having a bit of a hard time with Matthew enjoying school, I decided we better act on this excitement. Post-afterschool snack, we headed out to the library to pick up some books.

I’m not the only one facing these questions. Rebecca informed me on my birthday that their three-year-old, Noah, was also inquiring about human anatomy. He just learned that girls lack the same parts as boys. On the morning of my birthday, Rebecca told her boys that we were coming over to celebrate “Ms. Jenny’s Birthday.”

Noah got all excited and loudly announced, “Ms. Jenny doesn’t have a penis!!!” I’m a little concerned that at our next Engaged Encounter function, he will randomly proclaim this news unto the group. (Not that it’s a secret or anything, but still…)

So, Matthew’s known for a while that his mother is penis-less. He knows a very generic idea that babies grow in mommies’ tummies, but has never asked why or how they get there. (It’s always convenient to play the God card though. You know, “God gave you to us…God put you in my tummy.” Etc.). But I was definitely apprehensive as we flipped through the human anatomy book knowing full-well that the two page spread on the reproductive system was coming. Obviously, it’s a kids’ book (from the Eyewitness book series), so it’s done tastefully. All the pictures are diagrams or from models (like not the super model kind but the plastic-faux-human kind).

We were able to keep things mostly general, “Well, that’s the diagram of the inside of the mommy’s parts. ‘Cuz, you know, ladies have different parts than guys.” Then we come upon the picture that shows a (microscopic close-up) of a sperm fertilizing the egg. (I always wonder who signs up to be the model for that photo and how that all works, but anyway…). Matthew asks what the picture is. I kind of sit there stumped and then Mike says – ever so geniusly – “Well, babies are part their mom and part their dad. So, this is the part from the dad right here, and this is the mom part. And together, they’re making a baby. That will turn into a person.” And we left at that. Phew! So, he still doesn’t know HOW these things REALLY work at all. We still haven’t had to REALLY answer any major questions. And I’m REALLY fine with that for now.

Then we look at the illustration of the side-view of a baby in the womb. Matthew looks at it puzzled and said, “But, how does the baby get out again? Doesn’t the mom have to push it out her…privates?”

“Yep.” I respond.

“But where does it fit? How does it get out?”

“Well, see this little channel right here? The baby comes out of there.”

Matthew’s eyeballs get as big as saucers. He looks at me and says, “Um. Ow! That looks like it’d hurt!”

“You’re telling me!”

It’s my 30th birthday!! Today. Today I enter my 3rd decade. Dude. Time for a mini-midlife crisis?? Nah.
I am a birthday snob. For 30 years now (or at least ever since I can remember), I have felt that the entire world should stand still on May 24th in honor of me. Everything should go my way. It should be a perfect May 24th birthday experience every year. Like no hangnails. No cranky kids. No dishes. No laundry. No clutter. May 24th should always be devoted to honoring me with perfection. OK, while I’d be pumped about the lack of hangnail, cranky kids, laundry, etc. and I did just wake up the boys while singing Happy Birthday to ME, I feel I’ve reached a state of maturity this year. I don’t actually expect the entire day to be devoted to the worship of me (‘cuz that’d be bad)….I expect several WEEKS to be devoted to the worship of me.  And so far, things are looking good.

I got to see my FAVORITE musical group – Straight No Chaser – with a few of my dear pals. (What was ironic is that when Mike and I saw SNC in November we were LITERALLY in the front row. This time, we were in the front row of the 2nd balcony where I’m fairly certain they handed out optional oxygen due to the altitude. Still a great show though!). I also got to see a funky funk band at a funky bar on Friday night. I get to have a playdate with our best friends (Rebecca and her boys) today (and a gourmet-feast of a birthday lunch I’m sure). I get to go for a run this afternoon with one of my closest high school friends – who I haven’t seen in two years! I’m doing happy hours with friends tomorrow. Next weekend, we’ll be heading to Port Ludlow with my fam for a weekend of lazy luxury and further birthday celebration. And the weekend after THAT, I get to fly to Monterey, CA to see my dear friend Katherine, her army-man hubby Dan and her pixie-cute baby Grace.

Oh, we think Zachary broke his toe. Youch! The monkey was hanging on the towel bar in the bathroom (how many times have we told him not to??? Guess he HAD to learn the hard way). The bar came out of the wall including the big, solid medal attachment-to-the-wall-ball-part-thingy and landed on his toe. It is now purple-colored (the toe, not the wall thing) and all puffy-chubby. He’s hobbling about. Maybe we should consider having it looked at but what could they even do about it? Maybe he should’ve listened to his wise parents in the first place. Yeah, maybe.

So, it may not be a day of absolute perfection – we’ve a broken toe, there’s laundry literally stacked at the end of the hall just awaiting its’ put-awayedness, dishes need to get put away. We’ve already had two kids throw fits. (I’ve tried – and failed – to use the line, “Nope. Sorry. There’s no crying on my birthday.” Even that didn’t work). Sigh.

Thanks to all my readers, family, and friends for the years and years of support. Here’s to 30 more…and then 30 more after that.

If you know me, you know that I consider myself somewhat of a Guilt Expert. Look, not to brag, but I pride myself on my ability to feel guilt on most any aspect of my life. I’m a Guilt Connoisseur. (I currently have French Major’s guilt because I had to double-check the spelling of Connoisseur). I am a Specialist, Master, Guru, Virtuoso, Diva and general Professional on all things Guilt. (Do you need a list? Runner’s Guilt, Recycler’s Guilt, Vegan-ish Guilt, Catholic Guilt, Friend Guilt, Writer’s/Blogger’s Guilt, Gardener’s Guilt, House-cleaner’s Guilt, Floutist/Musician’s Guilt, Wifley Guilt…oh, I could go on and on and on….Verbose Speaker’s Guilt – aka MotorMouth Guilt…). But perhaps most prevalent in my life for the last 6 ¾ years is Mom Guilt. The Guilt of all Guilts. Mom Guilt laughs and points and jeers in the face of the other weeny Guilts. (Mom Guilt huddles in the corner and totally mocks the crap out of other so-called Guilts. “Oh, what? You think YOU can cause feelings of guilt? You call that guilt? Oh, I’ll show you guilt!”) I feel guilty over how many times I’ve typed the word guilt in the last three minutes.

So, the other moms know what I’m talking about, but let me attempt (while suffering Lame-Writer’s Guilt) to justly paint the picture for you…word-style. Word.

No matter what we do, it’s not enough. We’ll never spend enough time with our children. We’ll never know exactly what to do on every single occasion. We can wake up every morning wondering how many years of therapy our children will have to endure [mind you – I am a major proponent of therapy] to undo all the damage that we will inflict upon them that day. OK, well, maybe not ALL moms go through this every day, but I pretty much do. Nearly every day the thought crosses my mind: “Just how badly am I screwing up these children? God help me.” Look, it’s not a BAD thing to be humble about one’s skill. And yes, many would argue that this Mom Guilt thing (especially the way the Guilt and I roll) is a bit unhealthy and I need to have some confidence in my Mom Mo-Jo. But, when it comes down to it, I know my children are thriving and surviving and they are healthy and they are so loved but holy majoly I’m pretty much the best improv actor there is ‘cuz I’m wingin’ it every day and I know I could be doing better.

Except for this week. This week I rock. I’m kind of the best mom on the planet…this week. OK, well, from like Tuesday-Saturday, I rock. Except for yesterday afternoon when I put on an educational cartoon and tried my darndest to ignore the kids. Aside from that, I’ve been Mom of the Year 2010. I’ll start working on my acceptance speech.

See, I know my boys. But this is specifically about one boy. My mushpot, my softy. My tender-hearted, little big boy. My eldest. My Matthew. I could go on and on and on about how much I love each of my boys but you already know that, so I shan’t bore you with the details. I know how great our kids are. I know how blessed we are. I know that millions of people have WAY more challenges than we do. With that said let ME now say, that this has been a VERY difficult year with Matthew. It’s obviously a year of major transition – starting full-day kindergarten, having twice the number of kids in his class than what he’s used to, riding the bus, being gone and on his own all day – yes, lots of change right there. And he did not seem to handle these changes real well.

Nearly every day, Matthew has come home from kindergarten and just completely fallen apart. He’s angry; he’s overwhelmed; he throws tantrums. And here I was looking forward to the boys being apart all day! I’d been told, “Oh, it’ll be SO good for them, they’ll be SO excited to see each other after school.” Well, if Zach even looks at Matthew wrong – look out! After spending most of the year trying to figure out how to best help Matthew and looking for resources, I’d finally found a book that perfectly summarized him: The Highly Sensitive Child. Taking the little quiz at the beginning of the book was startling and yet comforting – yes, this totally IS Matthew. He’s overwhelmed by the chaos in the classroom, he takes the general noise level of 22 six-year-olds in his class and internalizes it feeling like they’re all angry at him, he gets upset when things are hard and don’t go his way. He has the lowest self-esteem of any kindergartner I’ve ever met. He is so compassionate and so empathetic to those around him that the emotions bog him down and he just doesn’t know how to cope. So, he holds it together all day at school – too shy or scared to ask his teacher for help – and then he unloads the second he enters the safe walls of home.

Gradually through the year, Matthew has begun to dislike school more and more. For a while he would cry nearly every morning, begging me not to make him go. And with my heart breaking I would gently push him out the door. We found out that another boy in his class was bullying him. We found out that Matthew finds learning “too hard.” I feel like this has been the year of trying to slowly piece together the puzzle that is my son. How do I figure out what pieces are needed to help him feel whole? Why is he so very frustrated so very often? What can I do to help him? It’s literally been gnawing at me every day.

After researching and talking to friends (including one who is a psychologist), we’ve decided to have Matthew’s vision and hearing tested. We’re also going to have him tested for Dyslexia or another possible learning disability. IF he does have something that’s made learning extra difficult, I would imagine that it’s fairly mild. He has been learning to read and write and he’s doing ok. He definitely struggles though with some of the “benchmarks” for kindergarten. He’s in the lowest reading group in his class, he has a hard time counting to 100 (and counting by 5’s or 10’s hasn’t even been attempted) – which is fine, BUT I just feel like maybe there’s a way that we can better help him learn, maybe there’s something that’s making this whole school thing all the more difficult for him. Maybe there’s a way to help him enjoy school – maybe even love it. Maybe. And maybe not. I’m scared about finding something out or finding nothing out. Knowledge is power and I’m just trying to figure this kiddo out.

So why am I a good mom (specifically this week)? Because I’ve had to defend my choice – even to myself – on why it’s worth getting Matthew tested. I know my kid. I know that early intervention is a HUGE help when there are learning disabilities. I – like all moms – want what’s best for my child and I’m doing everything I can to figure out what that is. I rule.

Some numbers for you:

27 days of school left for Matthew (we’ve started a countdown calendar on which he colors in one box as soon as he gets home from school). This could be a LONG several weeks. That kiddo is more than ready to be done.

Only 4 days of preschool left for Zachary! (And yet, he’s the one who’d rather have 27 left).

9 – the number of miles in my long run last week (in which I almost lost my running shoe down a cliff and I got fairly lost…aside from that, it was a great one)! 106 – the approximate number of training miles I will be running between now and June 26th when I run my 13.1 mile Half Marathon.

3ish – the number of days until I get to go see Straight No Chaser (http://sncmusic.com ) in concert (for part of my early birthday celebration)! Mike and I saw them in November. This time, I get to take Mom and a couple of friends.

10 days until I turn 30. 15 approximate gray hairs I’ve pulled off my head in the last several weeks. $7 the average cost of a box of hair dye…I might be spending this sooner than I’d like.

21 days until I fly/travel approximately 900 miles to visit my friend Katherine in Monterey, CA!! I’m SO excited! Our birthdays are two days apart and for the last 7 years, we’ve often celebrated together – especially when Katherine’s Special Force’s husband, Dan was in Iraq. Last year, not only was he in Iraq but she was pregnant on her birthday, so I just HAD to see her (and I got to visit family in the Windy City too). Now, Dan is back and along with their beautiful baby girl Grace they live in sunny Monterey. Mike’s been kind enough to agree to “release” me for the first weekend of June so that I can fly down for a brief (post-birthday-celebratory) trip.

Zero – the amount of magic that teachers have according to Zachary. He told me one day after school that he “painted something.”

I said, “Ooh! What is it?”

He responded, “I don’t know. Mrs. Mac will turn it into something.”

“Does she have magic?!” I ask. “Will she turn it into something with teacher magic?!”

Zach studies me like a.) he’s appalled at my stupidity and b.) he’s disappointed that I’m the one assigned to be his mother. He shakes his head and sighs, “No, mom with scissors. She’ll turn it into something with teacher scissors.”

Zach is officially a four-year-old, bicycle-riding machine. He had a great birthday celebration last week and – as always in this household – we made sure to stretch out the festivities over several days.

On Tuesday, Matthew, Zachary and I went to a Storybook Theater production of the Princess and the Pea. Zach leaned over during the stage musical and whispered (in a bit of a stage whisper), “I’m SO happy right now,” and proceeded to plant a wet kiss on my arm. I guess he liked it the show!

We then had a mini-birthday party with best friends Joshua and Noah. They played, ate yummy lunch, watched a movie, played some more, had cupcakes and an all-around good time. As always, Rebecca and I had a great time with a glass of wine to celebrate (not that we ever need a birthday as an excuse for a glass ‘o wine).

Wednesday (April 28th – the actual big day), we went to my parentals’ for the big birthday dinner. Zachary got all sorts of fun stuff there including a Playmobil “Pet Clinic” from us. He later said – talking about some of the little, tiny animals, “These guinea pigs are just so cute. I just can’t stop looking at them.”

Then, this past weekend, my brother Tim came up (aunt Rebecca was out of town for the weekend) along with Go-Go the Wonder Pug! The boys were super excited to see him (and their uncle too). Tim and Rebecca were kind enough to go in on a bike with us for Zachary. The boys are now a little biker gang ripping up and down our street. Matthew – no training wheels – is doing awesome and Zach hopped on his bike for the first time (WITH training wheels) and rode around like a champ!

Lastly, I’ve created a new little laptop spot for my dear Kara. I now use an on-line calendar (as you can see on my screen, actually) and Mike and I installed a new picture window so that – while writing – I can look out at our French vineyard and countryside (it’s in Provence, you see). It’s a beautiful view. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go hang the laundry out in the warm, lavender-scented sun. I will then sip my café au lait before starting in on preparations for our mid-day meal of Poulet aux Senteurs de Provence avec Haricots Verts et finalement, une Tarte Tatin. (Or maybe I’ll just do PBJ).