"What's Your Emergency?"

Our family faced a scary situation this past weekend that has me wondering what God is trying to work in us, or teach us, or if it has any significance what so ever. For the past ten and a half months we have been rocked several times, at least four of them pretty high on any scale. The first was an incident involving our kids last April that I am STILL not at liberty to mention, and have yet to decide if I will when the time comes, the second was my Gram's health when she had a heart attack in July and the subsequent set backs she's faced since then. The third was of a personal nature, but threatened to hurt our marriage, and now this.

Friday morning, Scott had a small cancerous spot taken from the 'bowl' of his right ear, a spot about the size of my pinky nail. After, he had lunch with his cousin, then a dentist appointment since he was already in Louisville. On the drive home he mentioned blood was seeping from the dressing in his ear. By the time he made it home and was removing the bandages, our bathroom looked like a crime scene. His mom is a nurse and, knowing I'm not equipped to handle that type of thing, came up to repack the wound. He bled through the first one in minutes, concerning her, but when the second held up she left feeling like the bleeding had slowed and would soon stop. An hour later she was back at the house to stay with our kids, and we were on our way to the ER to stop the bleed.

We were there approximately three hours and the only attempt to stop it was the application of surgicel which lasted less than thirty minutes before blood flowed freely again. I'm no medical expert and don't have a clue what 'losing too much blood' looks like, but I know he lost a lot, and that it had been going on for about seven hours, getting worse as time went on. The only prayer I could manage through it all was, "God, please just stop the bleeding."

Finally, the decision was made to send us to a hospital in Louisville, about forty five minutes away, up an interstate that is blocked by traffic or wrecks about three out of every seven days. And he was now bleeding through about every two to three minutes. I did not have a good feeling. But, he said he felt fine and was just irritated enough at the lack of effort and/or ability to stop the bleeding, that he was ready to leave. We never saw a surgeon and they never drew labs. Just sent us on our way with a package of gauze and a few hospital towels to sop up the mess.

Now, this part sounds a little ridiculous considering the bleeding that was going on, but would prove necessary within the next thirty minutes. Both of our phones where under 10% battery charge and neither of us had eaten since noon (now almost 9 pm), so we left the hospital and headed straight for Best Buy to purchase a car charger, then I zipped through Wendy's for a burger before jumping on the interstate (they didn't want him to eat in case they needed to put him under for anything). This is important, because with my heart condition (vaso-vagal syncope requiring a pacemaker), my episodes are always worse when my blood sugar is low. With what was to come, it was potentially life saving that we had the charger and I had eaten. So, phone charging and burger being eaten, up the interstate we flew.

I had no idea where I was going, having never been to this hospital, and don't like navigating Louisville in the daytime when I do know where I'm going. So, with Scott navigating and fielding phone calls from his mom who had our kids, we were making our way. That is, until we got into Louisville and he started swaying. I said, "Scott, are you ok?" To which he replied that he was getting dizzy and didn't know if he should put his head between his knees or lay back. I called his mom immediately. I've passed out so many times I wasn't all that upset that he was dizzy, even though he has never had such an episode, I just had no idea where I was going and needed someone to direct me in. However, within seconds, what happened was so much worse than passing out. Conveying this in writing will do it no justice, but as he was trying to get leaned back, his arm dropped off his ear so I knew he'd lost consciousness and I shouted so to my mother-in-law, Norma. My voice got louder and more panicked as he fell forward seizing and shaking as his eyes rolled back and I yelled, "Something's wrong! He's shaking, oh my God, he's throwing up!" She began yelling back at me to get off the road and call 911, but nothing would register. Scott fell back shaking again after throwing up, then fell forward completely limp with his eyes and mouth hanging open. I thought he had died, and was screaming so to his mom, 50 miles away, home with my kids, unable to do anything but yell over and over, "Julia, call 911. Call 911. Stop the car and call 911." I cry now, remembering the panic in both our voices. Her yelling woke our kids up, so now I could hear their cries in the background, over my own crying, when suddenly the only two sounds I heard where the cries of our sons and the numbers '911'.

Understand, that was all within a matter of seconds. Maybe 30. Maybe a minute. I really have no idea, but it felt like forever and I saw everything I hold dear flash before my eyes. The way he feels. The way we laugh. How our favorite thing to do is anything we do together. How much we adore our kids and how long we prayed for this wonderful little family God has given us. How they adore their daddy. How would we make it without him. I struggled to breathe, to make sense of what was happening, to find the key pad on my phone and dial those three little numbers. 911. "What's your emergency?"

The lump in my throat is so tight trying to type this. I have no idea what all I yelled at her but it was some combination of the fact that we were on I65 trying to make it to the hospital, that my husband had been bleeding for almost eight hours and that now I thought he had convulsed and died, that I had no idea where I was going and no idea if I could make it without passing out myself. Then he looked up at me with half hallow eyes and said, "I'm ok. Calm down." My goodness how the flood gates opened then as I told her, "He's not dead!" She said I had two exits to go, could I make it? I said I could if she could tell me where to go. Like a boss, that girl kept me calm (relatively speaking) and guided me to the emergency room entrance then wished us the best as we hung up. Scott had fully come to at this point, looking rough, but alert and most importantly, alive.

As I was preparing to jump out and run in for help, he said, "Jules, my ear stopped bleeding."

WHAT?!?! How? After eight hours it stopped sometime just before, during or after those terrible moments. Ironically, now we were rushing into the ER for a bleeding wound that had finally clotted and an eerie episode of shock just miles up the road, with a fully alert, shirtless (remember the vomit), man and his inconsolable wife. The remainder of the night is really unimportant, other than the fact all his labs showed he was fine and his ear never did bleed again. We were sent home about three hours later, exhausted, confused and grateful. Three hours before, I was wondering how I would ever tell our kids that their daddy wasn't coming home, and now, we were headed that way together, wanting badly to kiss each of their little heads. We had no answers for the events that had transpired, but he was fine and we were tired. Somewhere on that drive, still annoyed that no one could tell me why, after all those hours, it finally clotted when it did, I remembered the only prayer I could pray, "God, please just stop the bleeding" so, I decided to simply give thanks.

It was one of the most intensely traumatic things I've ever been through, and Scott has finally opened up that the whole thing has him pretty upset up as well. He is such a tough guy, unmoved by blood, combat or fear. But, when hit head on with our life and all that holds, he was shook to the core.

What is God working in us? I have no idea, but we will cling to His truth, continue to love with reckless abandon, and give thanks. Over and over and over, because none of this is promised to us. Not a day, or moment, is in our control. He is the object of our affection and our faith. He will sustain and comfort us. He will equip and prepare us. For what...only He knows.

Turning 40!?!

Channeling my inner Cougar Town, I'll "what the what" as I hold up Big Carl and toast this new decade with wonder, laughter and a little surprise. Here's to you proverbial 'top of the hill', I'd like to enjoy the view a while if that's ok with you. I'm not 'over' anything quite yet.

A moment of reflection if you don't mind...a decade ago, at 30, I was in the middle of 500 miles of training for a 26.2 mile marathon which I ran in 3:52 minutes, missing the Boston qualifying time by 22 minutes. I flatlined a month later, requiring the implanting of a pacemaker. Five months later, I ran a half marathon, then divorced my first husband, rounding out my year, in hindsight, running from something I couldn't escape, namely myself. It was a year of 'big' stuff. Moments I was very proud of, and moments I wanted to forget. Moments that saved my life and changed my life. My perspective changed after that year, as did my focus, outlook and relationship with the Lord.

31 brought a new relationship. 

32, marriage to my best friend. 

33, a new teaching career and motherhood.

34, a second child at the start of the year, and my first pregnancy at the end of the year. 

35, a rerouting of careers from special education teacher to stay at home mom, birth of a son and adoption of our first two. 

37, our fourth child. 

39, her adoption. 

And now, I'm 40. 

Where in the world did the time go?! I look back at those 500 miles of training ten years ago and wonder why I thought that was so tough. No, that's not true, it was tough, but pretty sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere. I learned a lot about myself during that time, and in the years since. I have strength I never dreamed of, the ability to love and be loved, and faith in the One who has known me through it all. 

I said back then that I would qualify for Boston by 35, then I pushed it back to 40 when the family started, feeling like 40 was a world away. After all, I just needed three to four months to train then another few months to maintain to run Boston with a little competitive fuel. I could do that anytime. Then BAM. 40 came a calling.

And to be honest, I'm really not all that worried about the number. 40's not bad actually. I'm pretty sure of who I am these days. I'm ok with those who don't like it and fond of those who do. But what gets me is, when did I stop being one of the youngest in the room, and start being one of the oldest? I'm ten years older than most people who have kids our age, and have watched mom's around my age graduate their children, send them to college and the service, or become grandparents! I'm not 32 anymore and, for some reason, that surprises me more often than it should. 

But, I'm as content as I ever have been. I know what's important to me.  I know what's worth fighting for and what's not. I'm less selfish than I was a decade ago. I'm in love with the life and the family God has given me. And most importantly, I'm not running anymore. I'm digging in, holding on a little tighter and loving a little deeper. I still hope to qualify for Boston someday, but am perfectly ok not putting a timeline on it anymore. God had a different kind of race in store for me and I don't want to miss it. So, cheers 40. "What the what!"

Altered Expectations

I realize with this blog, that there's a good chance it's only actually being read by about ten people, most of them in my family, but there are those views way out of our country, so, who knows. Point being, when I say one of the reasons we decided to tell our story was to hopefully encourage, or at least shed light on, foster to adopt, I wonder if I even have an audience for that. I also write as a way to document for the kids, so even if I don't have that audience, the story serves a purpose. And finally, my new favorite word, it is cathartic (providing relief through the open expression of strong emotions) for me to write. Healing to get the thoughts and words out of my head where they spin and repeat themselves, and onto the page, where they become concrete. Sometimes it brings laughter and joy to write, other times tears or anger. Today, I am conflicted, defeated and moving forward. These moments are among those that are much harder to write about. Where I wonder if I should share? What if I could see my audience, would I still write this? But alas, it is cathartic, and maybe someone else will 'feel me'. Maybe someone will be encouraged. Maybe I will be encouraged. There is healing and hope in sharing. We are called to be burden bearers with each other (Galatians 6:2). And so, I will share. Then I will fret for a week that I shouldn't have. Such is my life and my mind. Bless my heart.

When we were in training to become foster parents, one of the repetitive themes was that sometimes 'love isn't enough'. These kids, many of them, have been through horrendous acts that most of us can't fathom. I know I can't. I didn't lead a charmed life, but I was loved and safe and provided for. The idea of abuse, abandonment, neglect...these things are foreign to me.

When we found out that our first placement was an almost one year old boy who had been neglected we were glad to know that 'that was all'. Just neglect. As I've mentioned throughout the story, he just fell right into place in our family, and five months later, when his newborn baby brother came, it was like we had a hole he filled perfectly. We were a family, even though many months would pass before that was official. All along the way we would say how thankful we were that he was too young to remember or be affected by his beginning. We loved him and his brother and that would be enough.

We were wrong.

Timothy was in daycare his first two years with us while we were both school teachers. When I became pregnant and it started to look like adoption was going to happen, I left teaching to stay home with the kids. His third and fourth year with us he was in preschool for speech. When he turned five and started kindergarten, we started to notice a few behaviors...talking a lot, having a hard time sharing, chewing on everything, busy to the nth degree.... for the most part, normal boy stuff that we hoped the smaller environment of a private school would help him work through. His teacher was amazing and from what we saw in the evenings, the behaviors were lessening. The summer following this year things started to get difficult. By the end of summer break, I was praying the return to structure would return our sanity.

That was the fall of 2013. I'm still searching for my sanity.

And it's not that he's a terrible kid. He's not. He's happy, entertaining, compassionate, smart, helpful. But the behaviors we struggled with (still struggle with) are like an off rhythm beat at a deafening volume that doesn't stop, has no thought of anyone else, is defiant, impulsive...pretty much just all around frustrating, especially when I know his potential.

After a certain event in the spring of 2015 sent us to counseling with all our boys, we decide to stay on with Timothy and address some of these behaviors.

The result? Trauma. Anxiety. ADHD. And one grieving momma. The substances ingested in utero, the violence, the neglect....while only a fraction of his life, the trickle down from these events are life altering for him. For our family.

I know there are no guarantees with our natural children. Some may struggle with these same issues, but to know these things are likely caused by the damaging actions of another to your child...that hurts. It just does. And when we've gone almost six years with this idea that the life we've provided...structured, loving, nutritious, nurturing, etc...would keep him from the side effects, or that we could shelter him from what happened before he was removed from that environment, the realization that we haven't and won't be able to, is heart wrenching. He'll be ok, of course, but it was an added element we were hoping to avoid.

So why share this? Because, as in all things that befall our families in this life, we have to lay down our expectations, our pretty picture of what we thought this would be, and our comparisons, and deal with the life at hand. The one that will likely need counseling long term, medications to help him cope and find an even playing field, and friends and family who will stand by him in support and encouragement and prayer. While we have several friends who have adopted (most international), and many friends with young kids, this is not a topic that has come up much. We like to think everyone around us is surviving gracefully in the land where dreams are made, but the reality is, most are not. I'm likely not the only one to have struggled with these things with either natural, or adopted children. And I'm likely not the only mom to sit in the quiet at nap time and wonder how in the world will she survive this, and every day, only to lay her head down at night questioning how she will do it again tomorrow.

So, we shift our expectations, we grieve and we move forward, knowing His grace is sufficient for today. And tomorrow, the sun will come up.

It's Just THAT Kind of Day

Do you ever label your days? I do, maybe not directly, and often with the same phrase, "it's just been that kind of day". Maybe it's a remnant of the athlete in me, always wearing the same socks, or same colored undies for softball games, or following the same Arby's and an orange routine before a home basketball game. Still, Scott can know what mind set I started the day with by one, or both of the aforementioned choices. He can also tell how my day actually went by other labels I end up with throughout our daily conversations, often culminating in how I spend the kids nap time.

Kids are the greatest thing in the world, to this I'm sure we can all agree. They are joy bringing, laugh producing, pride causing, evidence of good parenting, little dreams we all dream. Only to be replaced a minute later by jaw clenching, heart racing, eyes bulging, ugly side of ourselves revealing, tyrants who didn't get to watch tv (I'm SO mean!), but were instead ushered to their rooms to play with the toys they so gleefully unwrapped just 11 days ago (the injustice!). 

This swing in emotions, x 4, caused by anything and everything with no warning whatsoever, can really do a number on a momma trying to homeschool a first grader, potty train an almost three year old, and taxi the four and five year old back and fourth to preschool and kindergarten, and that's just before noon each day. My mind and body scream for the slow and easy lazy river, but they daily take me on the longest, most dangerous, most fun, most gut wrenching roller coaster they can muster. I often hear, by either awe struck, or appalled parents, "Your kids still nap?!". Yes, they do. After the daily circus of my life, I need the break. A little wind down. A regrouping session. It changes often, as their sleep needs shift with age or growth spurts, but it's quiet time in their rooms that allows us all to decompress. 

It's during this time that most reveals what kind of day I'm having...

Many days I just sit on the couch for about 15-20 minutes in silence before it occurs to me how bad I needed to hear nothing = everything has happened above the coveted 'inside voice' decibel.

Often I take to a few minutes of Bible reading and/or prayer = Please help me do this God. I'm obviously lacking and in need of your grace, mercy and wisdom.

There have been those few (very few) 'Yes, I'm having wine at nap time. No you don't need to come home early....well, maybe it wouldn't hurt...' = Thank goodness I love them so much and have sanity on my side!

There's the 'I fell asleep in the floor outside their door' days = obviously these days were fun. It's not easy to fall asleep mid-day, on the floor. But I've done it...wiped-out.

Oh, a favorite, 'I just ate all the oreos (m&m's, ice cream...whatever is within reach!)' = pity party. I want to have a lunch date with a girl friend. I want to wear makeup and to fix my hair every day. Or at least remember to brush it before I run out the door to the doctor, again. 

The unimpressive death stare = "Do we have to wake them up from nap? Can't they just sleep until tomorrow?"

There are my writing days = I have enough life in me to get the words out, which is good! 

And my exercise days = feeling frisky! Usually rocked the super mom cape these days! Go me.

Then there are days like today....

Oh yes, I did. All for me. None for the kids. A warm marshmallow sandwiched between two delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies. Ahhh yeah. Shameless, and ok with it. Why? Because I've spent a couple days now, sure I was wrecking the lives of four little people, increasing the frown wrinkles on my face as I've beat myself up for it. But somehow today, it occurred to me, we are doing just fine. Not perfect, but making our way the only way we know how. That's just a little bit more than the law will allow. Oh wait, thats from Dukes..... But, we are in fact, making our way. Ups and downs, struggles and successes. And I'm happy. Happy with them, with this life we have together. I guess this warm, gooey goodness was just a feel good treat to go with my recovered smile.

Usually, by the time they wake I'm refreshed, revived and renewed, sure I can continue through my day, positive God did in fact bless me with this crew.

To My Baby Girl

Right now you are an adorable toddler and I tell you all the time how much I love you, but from what I read and hear, we'll go through some rocky times, you and me. The pre-teen, teen and young adult, mother - daughter years where you may find me either embarrassing, stupid, irrational, ridiculous, unfit, and annoying, some combination of two or three, or all of the above. There might be a few additions to the list along the way, but I'm pretty sure these are some of the emotions you'll go through, because at some point or another, they are the same I felt for my mom during those years. As for how I may feel about you in the midst of those delightful years? It's hard to imagine anything but sweet, endearing snuggles and joy right now, so really, I have no idea how your pubescent emotional irrationality during your young teen years, or your over confident infinite knowledge of all things, coupled with my total and complete lack of knowledge in all areas in your later teens, may affect  the displays of my affection. Without a doubt I will love you with the same ferocity that I love you now, but just in case you don't want to hear it, or I'm too upset to say it, and, so you'll always have it to look back on...

My baby girl, 

You are stunning. Not just beautiful, not just because you have the most amazing hair with the most amazing natural part, and not just because your big blue eyes literally sparkle and dance. You are captivatingly happy. Everyone sees it. People stop me all the time in stores to tell me so. Your smile is radiant and true. When you laugh, it's impossible not to laugh with you. Your eyes and hair are indeed beautiful, but they are not what defines beauty. Let your beauty be defined by the love you have for the Lord, and the happiness that overflows from that. I pray you are always so quick to smile, so full of joy, so easy to laugh. Happiness pours out from the heart. Guard it my sweet girl. Secure it with deep rooted promises from God.

You are tiny, my little princess, barely on the growth charts, but you are mighty. You have never once been slowed by your size. Not even a little. You climb, move furniture, or find another way, but you keep trying, seldom giving in to frustration and rarely quitting. This, girl, this tenacity needs to stay with you always. You can do anything and everything you set your mind to. I just pray you always remember the One who fearfully and wonderfully made you. The One who created you just as you are for this time and for His purpose. With Him, all things are possible.

You are kind and affectionate. You offer help, hugs and encouragement to your daddy and I, to Gram, and to your brothers. Even if it's just a pat on the back, climbing in our lap, or bringing a favorite woo-woo to one of us when you sense something is wrong. You are genuine in your concern, even as a two year old. When your daddy and I hug, you find your way between us, even though you only reach our knees, knowing that this sharing of love is special. You tell each of us, one at a time, "Momma, love em, Daddy, love em, Ti-Ta love em, May May, love em, Eli, love em." Your speech is a little slow in its development so you just recently got the 'l' in love and the 'you' comes out as a single 'm' sound, but when you call each of our names, you yell it so we are sure to hear and you  make sure we respond so you know we are listening. I love to watch you in these moments. I love that you take such joy in each response and that it's important enough to you to tell each one of us individually. You laugh with delight when we respond in kind, and you remind me that sometimes, telling someone you love them is worth yelling it over all the other noise of life.

You are uniquely you. You love pink boots, pretty bows, frilly skirts and anything sparkly. Yet, you love the outdoors, playing ball,  pushing tractors and digging in dirt. You are perfectly girly and completely tomboy all in the same moment and I love this about you! I hope you keep your sense of fashion, but never let it overshadow you. You can like pretty things, but don't let them sideline you from the game.  Be the girl that's not afraid to sweat and work hard, even if it is in your pink, sparkly shoes.

Sweet Sophia Bean, there was a time, when you first came to our family, that we struggled to make sense of God's plan, but now, even without fully knowing all He has in store, our family just wasn't complete. You were missing. Will we go through trying years? Will you find me irritating beyond belief? Who knows. What I do know is, you bring such sweet joy to our home, to your brothers, our extended family, to your Daddy and I...hear me say it now and hold on to it during those times when you earn a spank and think us unfair, or we send you to your room, or, heaven forbid, keep you from dating a dud, we love you. Now and always. God knew exactly what He was doing. Through growth spurts and bad attitudes, math homework and sports, fashion disagreements and boys, remember that He knew. I know I will.

Love, hugs and kisses,
Mommy