So much news!

I'm falling behind on my blog... if that's possible.  (Is that possible?  It's not like I have a schedule, or due date for postings.  But sometimes big things happen in life, and they are so big that I'm working on sorting them out, and only after the fact do I have the time and emotional energy to post about them.)

Anyway!  first, I get to brag.  It's a parental right, and one of the rewards for 9+ months of your clothes not fitting and several hours of excruciating pain and really, really hard work.  =)

Rachel has been asked by her animal anatomy professor to do some research and to apply for an ORCA grant !  If she gets the grant she will be doing research on rattle snakes and how varying levels of rainfall affect their health by looking at isotopes of certain elements in their rattles.  (did you get that?)  This is something that has apparently never been researched before, so her chances of getting a grant are pretty high.  One of the cool things is that, of all the kids her professor teaches, the professor asked Rachel to do the research and apply for the grant!  What a compliment!  Way to go Rachel!  =)

Back here in Virginia, many of our family members recently submitted writing and other art forms to the Book Arts Bash.  And several of our entries are being considered as finalists!  You can look on the Book Arts Bash web site to see our entries.  (If they are not posted yet, keep checking back.  Or I'll tell you here when they are up.)  You'll find some wonderful poems, great artwork, and all-around incredible writing, if I may say so myself.  =)  And the prizes?  

Drum roll please....

Having your work reviewed by some of the biggest names in the industry, including Lois Lowry (The Giver), Robert Pinsky (Poet Laureate), Sara Gruen (Water for Elephants) and Bruce Coville (Unicorn Chronicles and many, many others), to name just a few.  Holy Cow!  Who wouldn't write their heart out for a chance like that?  Keep your fingers crossed!  =)

Our well-entertained fish (see my previous post about Peter dancing for the fish) have been moved into new and improved, luxury dwellings.  I think this was filling some emotional need on my part.  Clearly the fish had not asked for the move.  But I've been feeling so trapped lately, (just think of the housing market!) that looking at them in their 2 cup containers only made me feel worse.  None of us could go anywhere!  Swim to the right.  Turn around.  Swim to the left.  Turn around.  Swim to the right.  Turn around.  Repeat.  Forever.  Until your eyes glass over, you go belly up and get flushed down the toilet.  I could relate a little too well.

Since I'm not going anywhere exotic any time soon, I moved my fish to new, exciting locations.  We got two huge (if you're a beta fish) 5 gallon tanks and decorated them with pebbles, a sandstone arch from our family vacation to Arches National Monument (one of my all-time favorite places on Earth), a lovely blue castle with a mysterious cave, and other lovely and exotic findings from places as distant as the garage and my kids' bedrooms.  I was sure the fish would be thrilled!  

But apparently beta fish are not the high adventure types.  The one we left in the front room seems to be faring well enough, although he spends most of his time in one corner of the tank, as far from that foreign arch as he can get.  The other one we moved, not only to a new tank, but also to a new room, and it appears that may have been a little too much change for his poor constitution.  His color is not looking so good, and instead of gobbling down his food, he just stares at it.

Darn it all.  I offer a little excitement and then find out they are fish of a different color.  They remind me of some of my in-laws.  No sense of adventure.  (sorry, family.  no offense intended.) 

Rebecca

who is dreaming of touring Antarctica, climbing to Machu Pichu, exploring the Galapagos, and sitting on the crumbling remains of Ancient Greece.... sigh....  

Chocolate-Covered Peanut

I took the kids to the pool today and while they swam, I read.  

As you may or may not know, my two youngest are adopted from Ukraine, and we have struggled as a family with the severe emotional disabilities Naomi has faced-- through no fault of her own-- because of her early life situation.  She has made Amazing, Miraculous progress in ways that professionals told us was not possible.  But I'm not a perfect mom, (is anyone?) and lately I've been feeling like I could use an injection of courage and good thoughts on our situation.   

So... the book I was reading is Attaching in Adoption, by Deborah D. Gray.  It's not the kind of book you recommend to your book club, any more than you would talk about suicide attempts in your preschooler with the moms' play group.  But for parents of kids with attachment issues, it is a God send.  Believe me.

I've read pieces of the book over the past several years, looking up information as I need it, being careful not to overwhelm myself with more info than I need. But today I read the last page of the book.  Let me share it with you.

A child with malnutrition and severe abuse in her background attempted to injure me several times.  As she improved, she was invited to her first-ever birthday party.  She brought me a chocolate-covered peanut from the party-- carefully saved in a plastic bag.  "I saved two, one for my mom and one for you.  Eat it," she said.  "It's good.  It's got a nut inside."

She shared her hurts with me; she shared her party.  When living in that moment, watching her face and her mother's, life was sweet-- and I have never savored a better nut.

I looked at Naomi doing summersaults in the pool and cried and laughed.  

It's good.  It's got a nut inside.

So, so true.  And, like Deborah Gray, I have never savored a better nut.

Rebecca  

Can You Fly?

I had no idea, when I went to the library on Wednesday, that it would be any more memorable than any of our other library trips.

My kids were scattered all over the place finding who-knows-what.  Books, magazines, DVDs... watching the snapping turtle paddle around his tiny world... talking to ever-patient librarians.... stuff like that.  I was in the young adult section looking for something good I had not already read  (this is a constant challenge to which I'm sure many of you can relate) when I became aware of someone beside me.  I kept reading, thinking it was one of my children, but when a voice said, "hello," I paused. 

I turned to see a black boy with huge brown eyes sitting on the tall chair beside me, swinging his feet, one shoelace untied and dangling toward the floor.  "Hello," I answered. 

 

"My name is Jamal," he said, as if this was what I wanted to know.  He was right.  Then he answered my next question.  "I'm four.  And this is a tall chair.  But I can get off it."  He jumped down.  "And I can get back up."  He climbed back up.

I wondered what I could possibly say to this amazing feat. "Wow!  You must be really good at playing on the playground!"

He leaned in closer, looked me right in the eye, and whispered intently, "I can fly."

I stared at him, shocked by the force and honesty of his statement, until after a moment I remembered that this was a four year old boy in the library, and that he probably couldn't really fly-- although something about his sincerity, or my gullibility, had caused me, for just a moment, to be totally impressed.  And jealous.   

He must have seen something in my eyes because he leaned in closer and asked, "Do you want me to teach you?"

I had to blink before I could hoist a smile onto my face.  "Sure!"  

He sat up and looked around the library, leaning back on his chair to see behind the shelves.  Then he turned back to me.  "My babysitter is here today.  How about tomorrow?"  

He looked so sorry, and I was disappointed as well.  "Tomorrow would be great," I said, although I must admit, I was wondering how he would find me tomorrow.  Thursdays are busy days.  But for flying lessons I could cancel just about anything, including peace talks to stall Armageddon. 

Our conversation moved on to other topics, like where my parents were, and if any of my kids knew how to drive cars.  Apparently driving cars impressed Jamal almost as much as flying impressed me.  After a while he jumped of the chair and went to find Peter and talk to him-- a great match, I have no doubt.  And then it was time to check out our books (I did find one I hadn't read) and go home.

It's now Monday and I'm still waiting for those flying lessons.  Maybe I should have given him directions to our house.  Or maybe he's waiting till he gets his driver's license.  I hope that babysitter is nice to him. 

Rebecca

who checked out The Swan Maiden by Heather Tomlinson, and finds it a tolerable substitute for flying herself

Changing Sheets

My back is killing me this morning, and I know why.  I helped Bethany change her sheets last night.

We have an odd collection of beds at our house, gathered from the many places we have lived.  Our first bed, right after we were married, was a king sized affair wedged into a furnished basement studio apartment.  We had to inch sideways to get past it into the kitchen.  The carpet was fire engine red shag, the gap under the front door was large enough to see visitor's shoes before opening the door, and we heated the place by leaving the gas oven on with the door open.  A visitor once asked, "How long are you going to live under here? --I mean, down here?"  Not long, thank heavens.

Our next bed was a mattress pulled from a garbage dump near our second apartment.  We kept it for years, one the floor, without a box spring, until I woke up one morning with cuts on my back from the springs poking through and we decided it really was time to actually buy a bed.  We pulled money together and bought an amazingly comfortable bed that causes us to be late for church and other important commitments because it's so dang hard to pull yourself away from.  Six months later we moved to Saudi Arabia and put our bed into storage. 

We didn't have to buy beds in Saudi Arabia, because our (huge) house there was furnished by the government, tab picked up by the Saudis.  We had nice stuff.  It did not come back to the states with us, unfortunately.

We started serious kids' bed shopping in Korea, ironically enough, where the natives (people from Korea-- not tribal villagers) sleep on yos.  We bought two yos-- thick padded things my husband confuses with European comforters, but much heavier than a comforter.  In the morning, to make your yo, you just fold the whole thing up and set it in a corner.  This would have made that studio apartment much more livable.  But we Americans like our large furniture, don't we?  

We also bought the back-breaking bed in Korea.  It's a trundle bed, and is really cute.  Just like middle school girls, it may look lovely, but watch out!  That thing is a killer.  The *!%^*?#! mattress and box springs are all one piece, weigh about 500 tons, and are set down in the frame that has cute little sides, just the right size and shape for holding fingers in place while the weight of the mattress crushes them.

When I told Rachel that Bethany and I were going to go change her sheets last night (it is at least a two person job) she said, "Mom, be careful.  Under no circumstances should you put your fingers under the mattress, no matter what.  It might seem like the right thing to do at the time, but don't-- under any circumstance, put you fingers under the mattress."  Words of wisdom.  Believe me.

So Bethany and I Heaved and Hoed and shouted things like, "Hurry, please!  Hold this part up with your feet while I struggle under here to lift this other part and pull the sheet over the corner."  "Don't drop it!"  and "Ok, move your hands and feet slowly away while I brace my back against the wall and keep you from getting smashed.  Now on the count of three I'm going to drop it.  Are you ready?"  It took about an hour, and at one point I had to go wake Josh up and ask for his help.  We needed a strong guy.

At the end of it all we stood back to admire our work and I think, "No wonder those Koreans sleep on yos," as I grab an ice-pack for my back, take 800 mg of ibuprofen and collapse into my own comfy bed (retrieved from storage after Saudi Arabia) beside my sleeping husband.

But Bethany has clean sheets-- at least for another couple of weeks.        

Joshua's Birthday and the 70's

He's 16, and tonight is his birthday party.  He's invited 15 people -- both boys and girls.  They've had cookies and ice cream, opened presents, and right now they are outside playing capture the flag.  Several of the boys brought their guitars, and for a while they all sat in front of the house playing and singing together.  Kind of cool.  It's nice that Joshua's friends are also Bethany's friends, so they are having fun together.  And I really appreciate that there is such a good group of kids around.  

Mike has taken to reliving the 70's by watching old television shows on the internet.  I think it's some sort of mid-life crisis.  I'm just waiting for him to walk in the door with platform shoes.  He's watching something called, (I think) "Welcome Back"?  He's shown the kids Sigmund the Sea Monster, Land of the Lost, and the old Batman show.  My kids reaction?  "Did you really watch this stuff?  No wonder Star Wars was such a big hit."   I personally think the 70's were bad enough the first time around, and I'm happy to forget them.  But, as Mike points out, I did wonder at the time why my Dad didn't dress more like Mr. James, my fourth grade teacher.  He (Mr. James, that is) was SO cool.  He had the biggest bell bottoms I'd ever seen, the longest collars, and an afro that my dad-- being white and mostly bald-- could never pull off.  But still, Dad could have tried.  Besides the wardrobe, Mr. James let us watch 3-2-1 Contact ever friday afternoon, and he read us a chapter from a Newbery book every day after lunch.  I thought he was the best thing since Holly Hobby.  

As I type, I have Brigitta, our tail-less, large gray cat sitting on my chest.  (I'm lying on the couch with my laptop propped on my knees so I can see over her.)  She's quite warm, and is purring loudly.  It makes typing a bit difficult, though.  And parents are starting to arrive to pick up their kids.  So I'd better go.

BTW, I highly recommend Evil Genius and the sequel, Genius Squad.  For some reason, they make me want to develop computer hacking skills.  But they are also a lot of fun.

Rebecca  =)