It's Like I Woke up Rich and Famous!

tee hee...this vintage photo is brought to you by A Man Called Peter and stage makeup, c. 1992.


What would make me willing to bump down my slide show of our new house?

Just a little international news story about my big brother by Reuter's News Service...

with a shout-out for his book, Sugar Milk.

My sibs and I have learned a thing or two about toil in the last few years. We started a church from scratch and finally learned to manage our debt. My other sister put her husband through law school...He took the bar yesterday (yeah, it's been a big couple of days). And my brother, my big brother whom I adore...became Mr. Mom and wrote a book about it in his inimitably hilarious way.

My brother is every bit as angsty as I am...actually, more so. But he deals with his stress with humor. He's a tortured artist on one hand, and the life of the party on the other. Do you have any idea how rare that is? He's like, Steve Martin. Ron hasn't arrived yet...there are other hurdles to jump over financially and otherwise. So buy the book. Get in on something good right from the beginning. Or just love the guy, because I do.

Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly

hopefully, we won't get eaten.

Negotiations are over.

They said yes.

Just Another Day in Paradise

More on the movie, Orphan

A friend of mine who is a missionary and adoptive parent wrote this post on her blog which included this quote from Plugged In Movies:

From Children of the Corn to The Omen, wicked, possessed or deranged kids are common in horror movies. In fact, they're downright trite these days. So an otherwise obscure thriller like this one should come and go without much notice. Except, in this case, the important subject of adoption is the controversial hinge on which the narrative pivots.

Early promotional spots featured Esther saying, "It must be hard to love an adopted child as much as your own." But as outrage from virtually every adoption agency in America has mounted, Warner Bros. backed off to a more generic tagline: "There's something wrong with Esther."

That, however, hasn't kept adoption advocates from continuing to voice deep concern about the film's potentially negative influence. Orphans Deserve Better says, "However farfetched some stories are, they can still subtly shape our values and perceptions." Kelly Rosati, senior director for Focus on the Family's orphan care initiative, adds, "Orphan reinforces false and negative stereotypes about orphan children and adoption. With more than 127,000 kids in U.S. foster care awaiting adoption, many of whom have endured all-too-real abuse and neglect, the last thing they need is to be the subject of a film that uses violence for entertainment value."

Likewise, a coalition of 11 other adoption and foster care groups echoed similar concerns in a letter to Warner Bros. CEO Barry Meyer. "We are concerned that ... this film will have the unintended effect of skewing public opinion against children awaiting families in both the United States and abroad," it read, while noting that the film may exacerbate "unconscious fears of potential foster and adoptive families that orphaned children are psychotic and unable to heal from the wounds of abuse, neglect and abandonment."

Indeed it may. What else is supposed to go through your mind when a 9-year-old orphan puts a revolver to a preschooler's head? Or a nun gets bludgeoned to death with a hammer? Or a drunk father is crudely propositioned by his adoptive daughter?
Orphans everywhere deserve much better than what this messed-up movie gives them.

And FYI. Just reading the summary of the movie made me a little sick. For pity sake, don't support this movie.

Stuck in a Moment

"And I was not just the age I was then but all the ages I had ever been."
-A Family Place by Leila Philip

I am still waiting for the phone call that will determine if we will get the house we put an offer on. It's the only house in a five mile radius that I want. We've been playing poker all week, dickering over my family's future. We've delivered our final offer and we've been left dangling now for two days. And now it is after five on Friday and you can guess what that means too.

You wouldn't believe the things that have gone through my head this week while I wait for the call of destiny. The way I've wrangled about what it says about God if we get this house. What it says about us. What it says about our choices and the things that have brought us to this point.

I don't believe that God is beholden to the American dream. I don't believe for a second that He owes me anything. I, in fact, owe Him everything. But I also know that He is a tender God, occasionally giving his children their hearts' desire just because He loves us. And that's why it wouldn't be uncharacteristic of Him to make this happen.

I'm not sure if I'm alone in my obsession with home ownership. And by that, I mean being owned by a place. I grew up belonging to a place and until I read that quote above just a moment ago, while trying to relax a bit and stop waiting....well it was that moment and those were the words that revealed why I feel it so. It's that "home" is the place where I was a little girl and a grown up. And when I visit there, I can be both of them at once. (I take the same pictures every time I visit, it seems!)

I want that desperately for my children. To have a place that connects all of the selves that they are over the years so that they can stand up and know who they are when the time comes. There are a lot of forces out there that want to decide who you are for you, but having a sense of place, a sense of where you come from...that gives you something extra to face life with.

A friend suggested to me that Robb and I could give that to our kids by just loving them and being there for them. I think Robb is made that way. He says that I am home to him. But I don't trust myself. I am too moody, too emotional. I find comfort in the predictability of a place...the way the sun rises and shines in a certain window in a certain way in a certain season. The way the wind smells at a certain time each day. The way a tree gets larger than life until you are so accustomed to it that only when it is lost to a storm or disease that you realize it was like a friend.

I don't know what will happen. It's been such a long saga. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in a home again. To make memories. To make friends with a house again. I'm afraid a little bit, like I was the first night I had my own room when I was 13 years old. I know it's good and I want it. But I'm also inexplicably sad.

I keep trying to picture how I'll take it if we get a "NO." I don't know. For now, I'm just going to sit in this moment between.

What I'm Working On

Here are two things I've had cooking in my brain for a while. Yesterday, I dug in....

The bench was free. And the broken tile was free. I borrowed paint from the neighbors. So I just have the grout in that piece, which I got at half price at the Habitat store. I've had this bench out by my garden and will probably keep it there after I finish it and seal it.

The table I found last week at the Salvation Army for 10 dollars and just fell in love with it. The top had a burn mark and some other wear and tear, but the shape and feel of it was perfect for the hand-made pottery shards I got from the Double Springs Pottery. They give me their seconds and broken pieces for free as well.

I want to keep this table too. I was listening to the Daily Audio Bible when Solomon dedicates the Temple while I worked on this and just talking with God and being present in my life while I worked on this. It feels good to look at and it looks like my conversation with God...meandering all over the place.

I have two left feet

and could never pull this off, but I LOVE IT!!!!!

The movie ORPHAN is offensive to Adoptive Parents (and it should be to you, too)

This is something I have been reading about and taking part of. I don't think I need to add anything to this message I got in my inbox a moment ago.

Take a moment to take the side of those who cannot speak for themselves.

Orphans Deserve Better is a grassroots campaign to counter the new Warner Bros movie Orphan.

However far-fetched some stories are, they can still subtly shape the way we see the world. So when a major motion picture leaves the impression that orphans are damaged goods and that adoption can destroy your family, those who know the deeper truth must speak up.

People deserve to know better. They should hear about the great needs orphans face…the joy found in loving them…and practical steps each of us can take to do so.

“Defend the cause of the fatherless,” urges the prophet Isaiah. We invite you to join in doing just that. At www.orphansdeservebetter.org, you can:

· Build a “counter narrative” to the movie by sharing your personal story of how loving an orphan brings joy.
· Send a message to Warner Brothers urging them to contribute a portion of proceeds from the movie to help orphans.
· Consider ways you can act to help orphans today.

On this day in history....

5 years ago today I got a phonecall.

"This is DHS. We have a 3 and half month old baby we'd like to place with you. It will probably be a long term placement. Call us back in a hour if you are interested."

And then there was Charleigh.

I Think He Heard We Had Flies Here

Grace over the Long Haul

One of the main reasons I went to Pennsylvania recently was to attend the Mattocks reunion. This yearly event was started shortly after my dad's mom died, about 9 years ago now. It is generally held on the weekend of the fourth of July and for awhile was on a Sunday, which meant we couldn't attend with any regularity. Then it got moved to Saturday, but only after we had moved to Arkansas; all that to say, I had not been to it in six years. Many of my cousins and second cousins I had not seen in longer than that...maybe 10 years.

I occasionally have a wild hair to attend "family stuff" and Robb never tells me no because he knows how much I miss living close to my enormous connection of relatives. (Mom was one of seven, Dad one of six, with many of those siblings living in a 20 mile radius.)

My dad's parents weren't exactly church people in my recollection. They weren't always nice. I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but it was a classic story how my Grandpa was drinking one night and the boys scattered, hiding in the barn. "Come on out, boys" he called, all the while holding a gun. He was a hard worker and he gave my sisters and I twenty dollars once, just for singing him a song. But you always had to watch your step around his big brass tobacco spitune and quart of Budweiser, which sat somewhere close to a bottle of Tobasco sauce that he put on everything he ate. My Grandma was equally generous to us and I often think of her sage saying "There's many a slip between the cup and the lip." She was a country cook and I can still taste her fresh from the oven peanut butter and chocolate cake. But she was a terribly anxious lady, always suspecting people of the darkest of deeds. My brother liked to get a rise out of her, and told her he was marrying a Mormon (actually she was Catholic) which Grandma incredulously pronounced, "A NORMAN?!!!"

All that to say, that I found it interesting to observe that all of my dad's siblings are church folks. They are not just "pew-warmers," but deeply involved and committed followers of Jesus. My Uncle David is a pastor, a warm-hearted man who loves people. Many of my uncles and cousins are deacons in their churches. One cousin is a foster parent, taking in the most difficult-to-place primary and teen-aged boys. Another cousin is a missionary. Some of them are trying to adopt orphans from Haiti. Most are active in their churches as youth leaders, children's programs and more. I was so impressed with my teen-age second cousins who played dastardly games devised by my hilarious cousin Becky, with not so much as a sour expression, let alone a bad attitude. As a group, the family decided to donate a portion of the "family kitty" to a charity or ministry. As a whole, they are a force for incredible good.

All that to say, that sometimes in ministry, we are focussed on life-change in the right now. We love the dramatic change, the overnight transformation. I don't know when exactly my grandparents became Christians, but in the later years they were gentler, especially my Grandpa. Of course there were ugly things that happened over the years, but it is clear that God changes people over the long haul, over the span of generations, for great good. My bond with this family goes much deeper than just blood. It is stronger and deeper for having been adopted into a larger family of people who have been beautified and transformed by God and his grace.

Young Eagles

Miss Mattie and Sir Vins-a-lot were the first two kids to take airplane rides through Harrison Ford's Young Eagles program. (We learned to be there early from last years' 6 hour wait). They had their ride with the Mayor of Fayetteville!

Fun with Friends

After hunting and bagging my large game lamp yesterday, the kids and I went to the Shiloh Museum of Ozark History. This free local museum documents life around this area from years ago, which is a great thing considering how things have changed so much in the last 20 years. (Alas, I had no camera to document that Charleigh was actually afraid of something: the bear skin hanging on the wall.)

The cool evening was perfect for playing outside and having our "best buddies" spend the night after making some s'mores around the firepit. I made a wonderful fire from the last logs I had saved from the ice storm. (I had kept those last few pieces of wood for when Robb got back from his trip, but the power came back on before I needed to burn them!)

In the morning Robb ran Mattie and Calvin down for their airplane rides, and I brought the rest of the kids down just in time to see them fly and land. We got to tour the Drake Field Air Museum with all the kids before coming home to another eventful day in Ryerse Adventureland.

L.O.U.S.es....I don't believe they exist....

Don't believe in Lamps of Unusual Size?

They DO exist.

Something Interesting I Watched This Morning

This little video was from the Etsy blog. Calvin found it interesting.

It feels like dating.

It just occurred to me that looking at houses is a lot like dating. You get together, size one another up and wonder, "Could this be the one?"

Having slept on it, I can totally see how that second house we saw yesterday would work. I think I have a crush on it.

It's been a long time since I was this twitterpated. I might get my heart broken, but for now, I can fantasize about those hard wood floors....

Even if it kills me....

So it's 10:30 and I have been awake since 5:30 this morning, thinking, praying, fussing and stewing. I have a really lovely post started about my family reunion last week, but I can't seem to get into the frame of mind to finish the post.

So instead, I will talk about today: We had an appointment to look at another house in the neighborhood we want to buy in. Yet another house popped up as available while I was getting ready to go over and meet with Robb and the realtor. It feels like this could possibly happen, but as my long time readers know, we have been disappointed sooooooo many times before.

The house we saw, I did not like. That was kind of nice actually. You hate to see a house that's priced a little higher than you like that you really adore and can't have. I flat out did NOT like it. It had a surly attitude and a penchant for dark corners.
However, we did get to see another one while we were there that I remain curious about. It has the oddest floor plan, but delightful windows. I've learned through my either real or totally imagined Seasonal Affective Disorder, that good windows are absolutely of mighty importance to my brain chemicals. It also had hardwood floors and upper cupboards that weren't so nice that I would feel guilty yanking them down to put up open shelving. I loved the outside of it.

I worked today. In sharp contrast to yesterday when I tried to work and just sulked instead because I couldn't make myself work no matter how hard I tried.

I had a long talk with my nine year old who has begun to venture out into the world and realize that other kids her age have cell phones and tvs in their rooms. Two things that my nine year old can fuss all she wants, but won't have any time soon. It was our first real fight and we both cried. It ended well, but it was nothing short of unsettling to be having that conversation already.

The kids set up a Gatoraide stand today. I'm pretty sure I funded all their profits. But they had to sweat for it a bit. I figured it was the best chance to teach my aforementioned nine year that work is hard and money is even harder to come by.

Ubiquitous laundry. Ditto the summertime Biblical plague of flies here.

Snippets of conversation with the neighbors, the neighbor kids, facebook and texting. The credit card bill came. It is shrinking and we are beating it back. Soon it will be dead. I can't wait. Orders came in; I need to find boxes. Who else on the planet worries about if I will have enough boxes? I realize I'm worrying about boxes and switch over to praying that God will provide a box. Laugh at myself for worrying because He's a pretty big God....and a box is a pretty small thing....so I pray for a house instead.

This is PRECISELY what's wrong with this country.....

Crisis Averted

In case you had forgotten, our family has partaken in a soda pop embargo. If we complete the year without drinking any, we will get a Wii. A lot of people have heard about this arrangement and assumed that we were saving the money we would spend on a pop toward the purchase, but the truth is, pop isn't really that expensive. Anyway, we are six months in with not so much as a drop of punch, let alone a cola. The kids routinely interrogate their dad when he comes home from a business trip about what he drank. And because my dreams routinely involve shame, it wasn't a surprise when one night I dreamed I was sitting on a couch and two ice cold cans of Coke were before me...I popped them both open and drank every drop....and instantly woke up in a cold sweat.

All that to say, we are taking this pretty seriously.

Which is why it was a terrible moment when Vin came screaching through the front door in hysterics, great elephant tears streaming down his face, wailing that we aren't getting the Wii because of CHARLEIGH!

Confused, I hopped off the couch and tried to make sense of his incoherent sobs. "Mikayla gave her pop and she drank it!" he complained angrily and with no small amount of heartbreak.

I confess, I was already trying to figure out what to do. I headed out the front door where Chuck was indeed sitting with her friends in the neighbors driveway with a very incriminating bottle of Coca-Cola beside her.

By this time her father had arrived on the scene and the two of us whisked her inside just in time to hear Vin declare with all the passion of a jilted lover, "I'm gonna punch her in the FACE!" Robb hands guided him to a chair with a "No. You won't. We'll handle this. You sit."

Back in the bedroom, Charleigh did indeed wear the face of incredible guilt. Her chin juts out and she refuses to answer questions, her eyes darting from one face to another. I'd seen that face so many times, I had mentally jumped ahead to remuneration while her dad worked the interrogation. "WHAT DID YOU DRINK?"

nothing.
More big eyes.

"You'd better answer us!" Charleigh has stonewalled us before and quite frankly, if she wants to keep something from us, we're more than a little nervous that she could indeed, pull it off.

"pawwwwwwwwwwwwwp" she mumbled.

"Why did you drink pop? Why did you break the deal?"

"Cuz."

"Cuz isn't an answer!"

"Cuz......"

Her lip quivered. Then the tears came. This was actually a good sign. At least we would get something out of her. Other times, she has kept up the silence of a Russian spy.

And then, for the first time, Charleigh answered a "WHY?" question. Always before, I was nervous that she didn't really understand cause and effect. Didn't understand what "why?" even meant. All of a sudden though, it was, "I drank pop from a cup from my friend and it had a lid and it was supposed to be water, but she tricked me and it was a long long time ago and it was before the deal and it was with a lid."

From this rather surprising outpouring, we were able to slowly piece together the fact that Calvin saw his sister sitting near the pop and characteristically quizzed his sister about drinking pop. Literal but not always chronological, she was possessed by guilt and immediately took on the look we have all come to equate with poopy underpants, cookies crumbs as evidence of a poorly chosen breakfast, contraband nail polish in between blankets and Charleigh's other peccadilloes. He assumed the worst and reacted accordingly...

When we realized that she was not actually guilty, we scooped her up in our arms for cuddles and reminders to "Always tell the truth!" And Charleigh giggled like only Charleigh can.

And the pop crisis of July 2009 was averted.

goodnight.

Where does the time go?

I can't believe it's been so long since I posted on my poor little blog, but with my mother in law visiting, my trip to visit my parents in Pennsylvania, and my grouty projects, I just haven't been able to find much time for sitting down quietly and reflecting on what's going on. But I am making a mental promise to myself that I will post every day this week, even if it kills me.

Speaking of time flying, the last baby I birthed turned 8 two days ago. I really had no idea the day we had that ultrasound done that it would be possible to love a little boy as much as I love this boy. He just jumped on my bed a moment ago to say good morning and start asking me questions I barely know the answers to, and send his great mop of floppy hair askew.



I know I have to cut it soon, but it's so wild and funny unbrushed and so like a 70s tv star when it is, I can't quite bring myself to do it (and I haven't had a minute. His dad keeps complaining that his own hair is like Ted Koppel, which makes him very grouchy.)





And if Vin is 8 then his "Baby" is nearly that. He looks pretty good these days, but I've lost track of how many times my mom and I have sewn his head and arms back on. Mom made it for him when he was tiny and we always called it "cuddle bear" until the night that Vin, who couldn't have been more than 18 months old dubbed him "BeBe." He's been Baby ever since and has had many a wild adventure, but his days always end in the arms of a little boy who won't be little much longer.



Like the Lego cake? So did Peggy.

And Done.

How I Glued it Down...

I use contact paper over a finished mosaic design, but when you do a really large one, it helps to cut it up into smaller sections. It helped that I took the picture of the top of the table after marking it with chalk (I also marked the sections of china with a marker). Then I referred back to the picture after covering the whole thing with adhesive.


(see my new phone? I have unlimited texting now. FYI)