CeCe – meet world. World – meet CeCe

I have a few friends that are woven so tightly into my soul and life story, that, no matter how much time has elapsed from our last conversation, we can pick right back up from where we left off and it’s as if no time or miles had ever passed. Since we all last spoke, many things have changed while I have been absent from this blog for many many months. I have missed my moments of quiet, tapping away at the keyboard sharing a glimpse into the crazy, pained, funny, often sad yet wonderful life I live with you. Quiet is a rare commodity here these days. Those of you that have stayed in contact via phone and/or Facebook know that on good days, I may have time to shave one leg and wash my hair.. sometimes only the front of the one lucky leg chosen.

I would complain about my lack of me time… if I had not experienced the painful blessings in the last few years. If I had not lost Eli, I would possibly see our new life as less of a blessing and more of a burden. If my mom had not suffered a stroke at 49 leaving me to bathe her, help her in the restroom and care for her needs, I would not have been prepared for the last 15 months. At all. But, the God that I was often not on speaking terms with… the God that I came to on my knees pleading for release from the clenches of grief and infertility… the God that at night when I was alone and feeling the deep empty wound that comes from infant loss – held my tears.. He knew. He was already there, in this chapter of our lives where we stand, as a family in awe of our journey and where it has led. God is IN the journey, isn’t he?

SO before I go any further.. and before I start blogging again regularly let me give you all a quick update or two:

We have moved out of the cold and repressed Midwest. We have put down roots in Gulfport, MS and are planting a church. A non-denominational – everyone.. EVERYone is welcome kinda church. Abby is in fine form and full of it as usual. The Teen is now 16 and still an amazing kid… I keep waiting for the teen “you are so lame” tude to kick in. Hubs is doing wonderfully and is still my rock and my much needed dose of common sense. Mom has great days and meh days. But, her great days still outweigh the meh. And… Sam. Let me introduce you to Sam.

(“Little Dude” who, while in foster care, could not be named or have ANY information shared past his doctors and case workers is now Sam. He was adopted by us on May 20th. And now, I don’t feel anxious about blogging. How does one write about their life when a huge part of it cannot be spoken of?)

Sam was born addicted. To everything. 3 pounds. Feeding tube. Apnea. Heart issues. Possible blindness. And with a terrible prognosis. All the doctors said that if he had been with any other family, he would not have survived to 3 months old. The same specialists said we would be lucky if he lived to see 6 months. That he would never know who we were, never crawl, walk, smile, truly live.

Well, Sam knows us. He may have some issues. Cerebral Palsy is a real possibility. Seizures weekly. And muscles so tight from 9 months of drug exposure that his legs are bent. So severely that the bones have actually twisted to accommodate the tension. There are nights of screaming where no one sleeps. There are days that consist of fits and total meltdowns. But, Sam knows us. He knows that he can count on parents that are patient and have unstoppable hope for him. Sam has always had the face of an old man… and in that face I can see that he knows that His Savior shaped his parents – through the grace that comes only from horribly painful trials- to rejoice in Him and in him. Just a few days ago, as we cleaned up from Tropical Storm Lee, Sam did something that most parents take for granted. I did too once upon a time. Sam took his very first steps, put his hands out and yelled with unabashed joy “Daddy!” 

Later that night, in a brief moment of quiet. I fell to my knees… and called out with unabashed joy “Daddy!”

A very close friend of mine was with me the day I met Sam in the NICU. She was there the day he became ours forever. She made this video for us… please enjoy meeting our son, Sam!

Merry Christmas, y’all!

I figure I must only have like 5 readers left by now. I am so sorry I never write anymore… it is just immeasurably hard to write about my life whilst sticking to the rule of not “talking” about Little Dude. I do have some news about that, though. It looks very likely that by spring of this year, you will get to meet our new little guy. Why you ask? because he will be ours. Yup.

Ahem…  sorry for the preemptive tangent, there.

Abby in fine Abby form made her mind up weeks ago that she would stay up waiting for Santa to thank him for giving her a baby brother to keep. She was driven… think Wall Street mogul driven. While most people laugh and say “Oh, my (fill in kid’s name here) tried that when he/ she was five, too. They lasted till Midnight.” They simply do not know our Abby. Tonight, as I left cookies out for Santa with her I mumbled “next year we are leaving him chocolate covered coffee beans.”

She made it clear to 3Am, y’all. Three. Our lawns are covered in snow and Jack Frost is a-nipping… and I was just sweating like a vegan at a southern potluck. Little Dude will be up and smiling in an hour and I am beat. This early morning.. as I looked at the spoils of Christmas shopping.. or as my mom and I call it- female hunter/gatherer syndrome, I thought to myself… Jesus, I need you. I need you to remind me why we celebrate WHY do I need to make each Christmas wonderful? I need to bring my heart to Bethlehem.

In my life, I have a lot of reminders of the love and miracle surrounding that Holy Night:

I could think of how as I type, there is a little brown baby boy asleep in his Moses basket who statistically, no one expects anything awesome from… but when I see his face, I see the face of God in so many ways.

I could relate to y’all and remind myself of how Hubs loves my kids.. as his own. He is a man of God and the man of my heart and house…. quite like the coolest step-dad ever, Joseph.

I could look at my Mom, asleep in her chair and reflect on how her body keeps her from joining us at church, but she first introduced me, as a small child, to the spirit of giving.

But tonight, I want to tell you the story of when The Teen was a little younger than Abby… but just as, well, tiring.

The Teen was three and a half the year I finalized my divorce from his dad. It was a long drawn out battle and one I could not lose… for The Teen’s sake. I spent every last dime I had on lawyers and securing a safe life for my, then, little boy. I had to sell our 4 bedroom house and move in with my mother. Not the best of years for us. The Teen would have never known though. I worked very very hard on making sure he had everything he needed and most of what he wanted. I think 2 years went by without me buying one thing for myself. One day, while in the mall, I saw this most amazing yummy cashmere sweater… cobalt blue. It was just the perfect sweater. Did I mention that it was as soft as butter and tailored in the most classic of ways. I NEEDED this sweater. But, it was Fall and I needed to conserve money for my son’s Christmas. So, I waited. Weeks  turned to months and the first week of December my sweater went on sale. From 200.00 to 65.00. I made my move. I gave myself my first Christmas gift as a single mom. I would wear this sweater to Midnight Mass.

Something about putting up Christmas trees, lights, stockings, etc. has the amazing ability to turn even the most gentle hearted child into a crazed Ebola Monkey and my little boy was no different. The weeks leading up to that Christmas were filled with time-outs, early bed times and lots of chocolate for me. Where had my sweet little guy gone? And could Santa bring him back? Seriously, those weeks made me doubt if I could ever be a good single mom. My sweet boy had gone rogue.

Christmas Eve came and I finally got the little booger to sleep just in time to head out to Midnight Mass. I threw on my skirt, make-up and pulled my hair up in a twist… now for my gift to me… my sweater! I slipped the yummy buttery goodness on and rushed to the door. Now, my mom, pre-stroke, had a wicked sense of humor. To this day, I am shocked she actually stopped me. She could have easily let me walk into Saint Anthony’s laughing heartily at home. But, she did not.

Mom: Hun, WHERE are you GOING?

me: to Mass

Mom: Have you looked at yourself?

me: Do I have a base line? ( any good Southern woman would rather be caught dead than with that pesky line of make-up on the jawline)

Mom: (laugh, laugh, snort) Sweetie, I think you should go LOOK in the MIRROR

I rolled my eyes at her and grumbled to myself as I walked into the hallway to inspect myself. I knew I looked cute. I had been courting this outfit for months…. then I saw it.

My Ebola monkey of a child had cut a hole in my sweater. A big square to be exact. Right. Over. My. Left. BOOB!

If he had not looked so cute sleeping in his Old Navy Christmas PJ’s, he very well may not be called The Teen today. I was livid. I don’t think I have ever been that angry at my son. A hole? In the titty? Seriously?

I cannot tell you what Hymns were sung or what the sermon was about that night.. I lit my candle, sang Christmas songs all the time mourning the death of cobalt blue yumminess.

I am no longer a catholic… and I miss the formality of Midnight Mass sometimes. I do not, however, miss the length of said mass. I think I got home at 2am that night. Time to be Santa because I knew my son would be up in a couple hours vibrating with giddiness. I assembled a Big Wheel, put out toys and got to stuffing stockings. As I was putting the required toothbrush in each stocking, I dropped one on the Nativity scene. That’s when I saw it.

There he was, our Baby Jesus. Surrounded by a loving, scared, YOUNG mom… an overwhelmed dad.. and covered. In the most regal, yummy, cobalt blue blanket.

As I sneaked down the hallway to my room, I peeked in on my son knelt by his bed and silently thanked him.   For  my heart first found Bethlehem through the eyes of my first child.

Merry Christmas, y’all.

CeCe

I could tell y’all that I have been on a technology fast.. you know, like a deeply spiritual woman who just needed to find a closer seat to Jesus. I could tell y’all that I have just been too busy with the Little Dude and simply could not find the time to sit and write. I could even try to tell y’all that I just have had too much on my plate to come up with anything worth sharing.  But, I figure if all of you have stuck with me through the ups and mind numbing downs of infertility, read about my traumatic swimwear shopping experience, know that Abby’s favorite shock word is VAGINA… you would have accepted pretty much any update on Little Dude or rant on how three people in three days asked if he was my grandchild. (so sad and oh so true)

Truth is, I have been scared to write. Scared of being judged… not by y’all… but there is something extremely frightening about seeing your heart in black and white. What if… what if I don’t like what I see?

So, I will get through the nuts and bolts of how things have been… then I will try to express what I am feeling.

First, Little Dude will be Three Months OLD this week! He is a whopping 12 pounds and while that is still small for his age, its triple his birth weight. He has had a very rocky start in life: seizures, reflux, aspiration during feeds, muscle stiffness and possible brain damage. He goes to what seems like countless doctor appointments, had PT and OT twice weekly and we do stretching exercises with each diaper change. He wakes about every two hours at night, and because of his feeding issues, takes about 40 minutes to complete his meal and fall back to sleep. Little Dude has been some seriously hard work.  It’s more than a little illegal to post photos of him… but if you can imagine a mocha hued Gandhi… that’d be him!

While Little Dude is a LOT of work and worry… he is so much more.

He is a precious light in our home. He is a daily reminder of God’s abiding love. He is a fighter and smells of what I hope Heaven smells like. He has taken residence in each of our hearts in ways that I cannot begin to express. Little Dude has charmed nurses, doctors, social workers, church members and strangers alike. He has so many odds stacked against him in this world, yet so many fans. And five people who would gladly walk through fire for him.

On one particularly hard night, as I rocked this helpless little guy whose tight muscles pained him too much to sleep, Abby had to check on him. Just barely awake, she rubbed her eyes and climbed onto my free knee.

“Mommy?”

Yes, sweetie?

” I know what he needs to know right now.”

What’s that? (half expecting her to tell me he needs chocolate or a cookie or silly band)

” The Lord is my shepherd. I do not want for anything. He leads by still waters. He lets me lay down in green grass. He refreshes my soul. He takes my hand and shows me to the right path. He feeds me even when I feel scared. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life and I will live in His house forever.”

( crying) Abby, you are so sweet and so very right. Mommy needed to hear that too.

“Mommy?”

Yes?

“Can our house be a house of the Lord?”

ummmm?

“So Little Dude can live here forever?”

Um. Yeah, y’all. I have been scared to write. Scared to admit that we love this guy so very much and are we are in an odd situation. One part of our hearts wants his mom to get clean, get her life together so she can know what a gift she has and can be his mommy. One part of our hearts wants to start some commune somewhere and hide so we can keep him in our arms forever. I think I understand purgatory more now than I ever did when I was Catholic. Limbo? Sucks.

So, every morning, I wake up and say the same thing to myself. Yes, I talk to myself. Often.

Today, we will love him and hold him. Tomorrow if she gets off the drugs, and gets her life back.. gets Little Dude back: we will celebrate in public and cry in private. If she never gets clean and we keep Little Dude forever: we will celebrate in public and cry in private.

No matter how Little Dude’s life turns out… someone loses a child.  So, maybe I am not normal.. maybe we are nuts… but we pray for Little Dude’s mom. We pray that she is safe and that she finds the only thing that can fill the void she tries so hard to fill with drugs. We pray that she sees Jesus and turns it around with His help. We also pray that Little Dude will always be safe and loved and cared for. And most days, I feel that those prayers contradict each other.  We love him so so sooo much… and I think, if that time comes, we love him enough to say goodbye. We also love him enough to not ever want to have to.

Now that your head hurts, I will say goodnight! I have a baby to feed and a freshly washed noggin to smell. Thank you all for the emails and continued prayers. I feel your love in my very bones.. and that has helped me keep my wits many a late night.

Love y’all,

CeCe

For now… yes. For forever? Only God knows. I just wanted to thank each of my readers.. the ones who comment and the ones who don’t… the ones I know in real life and the ones I only wish I did… for the continued prayers for our little man.

He is home. I am overwhelmed, humbled, and just wow. Abby is deeply smitten. Larry is in the kitchen cooking dinner and being as domestic as he can.. while he silently falls in love with our little visitor. Mom keeps saying “he is SOOOO tiny” and James… When James held him for the first time.. I saw a familiar emotion sweep over him. He has only been this little guy’s big brother for a few days, but he is his forever protector.

I just feel so blessed.

Tonight, you went to bed before me… you have to preach in the morning and let’s face it, you handle stress, excitement and well, just about every emotion evoking situation much differently than me. And that? Is a wonderful thing. If both of us were wound like eight day clocks right now, our home would be unbearable. I have tried, but sleep eludes me tonight. I have packed and repacked my overnight bag four times and there are only so many times one can write the same list.

Tonight, while you sleep, my thoughts drift to you. To us. Just a little over five years ago,  you went to bed before me as I prepared a very similar bag. Knowing, the next day, we would welcome a precious and very wanted little baby girl. Just days over three years ago, you packed my overnight bag while I lay numb on the couch… praying that somehow, Eli would simply wake up and everything would be okay.

We have seen some wondrous joy in our lives together. We have secretly cried tears of joy and gratitude to God when James first accidentally called you Dad. We have watched both Abby and James grow and learn and love. We have renewed our vows daily with acts of love and kindness that, for some reason, seem second nature. We still kiss, hold hands, and giggle. You keep my heart young and giddy. Most days, I still cannot believe that God sent me such an amazing man.

We have shared some deep cutting pain. I know, I do most of the sharing around here. If I am hurting, everyone within earshot knows. I take wearing my heart on my sleeve to a whole new level. You muse. And you pray (quietly). I am the one who got pulled over for a sobriety test because I was talking out loud and with great animation to Our Daddy in the van. You are my rock… because Jesus is your rock. Even when what I am feeling is seeping out of my pores and often my mouth… your calm, your resolve, your peace is my comforting reminder to turn to Jesus. And I thank you for that.

Tonight, as I weep over the joy of  spending the night in the hospital… in order to bring home a baby on Monday.. I know that he is not ours. He may never be ours to keep.  But, he is loved and will be ours for as long as God allows. Which, we have learned in our journey together is all we can ever ask for. To love them now… to love them forever… but to never know just how long they will be with us.

I just wanted to tell you that I love you in our joys, our pains and in the great unknown. Thank you for loving me… neurosis and all.

Xoxoxo,

Me

I don’t have much time these days to sit and write… it’s been a bit hectic here. See, we got a call. We have been asked to foster a tiny tiny baby. I have been driving the 90 miles into the city to hold him while he heals and grows in the NICU. This little guy is a whopping 4 pounds and is as precious as can be. I wish I could post photos without risk of going to jail so y’all could see him!

Little guy needs our prayers so he can come home to us and be loved on 24/7 so that he can grow into a healthy big boy. What he needs to get released is the energy to take all of his feedings by mouth for two full days , no more “events” (which is a nice way of saying .. no codes, no sudden sharp drops or peaks in heart rate or breathing) and steady temperature . Can y’all join me in praying for our little guy?

CeCe

K LOVE is one of our favorite radio stations. The kids love singing along and I love that this station seems to be our bicker-free zone. When my Glee CD has been shot down and Choo-choo soul needs to be put aside in order to save it from an untimely flight out the minivan window, KLOVE is always there, waiting to bring my motley crew into unison. There is nothing like seeing your teen son and diva preschooler singing praise together.. and frankly? that moment of sheer joy has saved them both from the wrath of mom more than once.

The other day, we listened as one of the DJs announced a new contest: describe your dad in 7 words. Seemed easy enough. Not that we would enter the actual contest.. who has time for that? But I did want to take time out and ask the kids just what they loved about Larry.. in 7 words. Seven words is the challenge. See, James is relatively quiet when it comes to emotions. And Abby? Goodness… ONLY 7 words?

We’ve talked about it for a few days now.. and once Larry went to work, we got to it…

“Daddy takes me to the park even when Mommy says no. He is sweet and He is the best Daddy I could ever have.”

More than seven.  But sweet.

“You chose to be my Dad. Thanks.”

7 on the nose. And a million in my heart.

Happy Father’s Day to a man who chose to love my children.. both of them.. as they were his own. I love you, the kids love you and we are blessed (truly blessed beyond belief)  to celebrate your role in our little family.

It’s been far too long since we have had a random bullet list on here. SO, lets look at our world through Abby’s eyes. God help us all….

• At a play date with Abby’s best friend from dance class, a somewhat violent older child on the playground decided to out and out punch a toddler. Abby said “Ummmmm, we only have NICE hands. Do I NEED to find a time-out area for you?” One would think this comment was directed at said older child. Nope. Older child’s mom.

• At a nice and fancy dinner in a nice and fancy restaurant with our nice little family….

Abby (in her outside voice): Mommy?

Me: yes, sweetie?

Abby: WHY does God give you a period to let you know that you do not have a baby in your tummy? Can He     not   just send flowers or chocolate?

• While “teaching” my mom to play cards, battle to be exact, Abby pulled a 3 and Mom a 6. Frustrated at not winning that singular hand, Abby decides to explain to her NaNa that ” I still win because you are OLD and I am YOUNG. You can’t take it with you, NaNa.”

• At church this Sunday, the kiddie moment included thoughts on envy. The example was : if your brother has a piece of cake, is it OK to want it?  On the way home, Abby looked somewhat bothered and confused. I asked if she was okay. She looked at    me   through the rear view mirror and with the greatest conviction said that she was pretty sure that it was ALWAYS fine to want cake.

While we love our princess more than air… I find myself praying for her future husband.

Have a glorious week!

CeCe

Last night, I posted my joy from this week. This early morning, while everyone here sleeps, I am reminded of that morning three years ago and how quiet the house was. Everyone in deep slumber… and I held my tummy while my chest tightened around my heart as if to protect it from shattering. My chest is tight again, as the sun peeks over the horizon. My day is full of meetings, to do lists and everyday tasks… I think I procrastinated and scheduled meetings today in some vain attempt to bring normal to a day I wish I could erase from the calendar.

I know, it’s been three years. I should get over it and forget this day. I should look at the bright side and move on. I should allow myself to let go. I should….

I shouldn’t still talk to Eli. I shouldn’t tell him how white the snow is…or how warm the summer sun is on my shoulders… or how big his  sister is getting… I shouldn’t tell him what a remarkable young man James has become. I shouldn’t cry when I get those damned “your baby this month” emails that just. don’t. stop. no. matter. how. many. times. I. unsubscribe. I shouldn’t ask Jesus to kiss my sweet baby when I pray at bedtime. I shouldn’t….

It’s been three years. Countless should and should nots. I would not be honest  if I were to tell you that I can do what I should or not do what I shouldn’t. I can tell you what I WILL do:

I will cry today. I will wipe my tears and enjoy my children. I will be productive and proactive. I will make sure that Hubs knows just how rich he has made my life. I will acknowledge his pain and let him express it in his personal way. (which is usually way healthier than my way) I will kiss my mom and tell her that she is the reason that I know how to love my children with wild abandon. And I will thank God. Yes. I will thank God for my joy and my tears. Both of which have made me who I am: a Mom of three perfectly wonderful children… two wonderfully flawed and one made perfect, at home with Our Daddy.

Happy Angel Anniversary, sweetie. We love you!

Love,

Mommy, Daddy, James , Abby and NaNa

Last year was Abby’s first year in dance. She was terrified of dancing in front of people… terrified. She would wail and shake at the mere thought of dancing in a recital. So, when recital time approached this year, Hubs and I were prepared for the meltdown of all meltdowns. We had gone over our auditorium evacuation plan when things went south. When I heard during her last class that said recital was going to be 4.5 hours long and all dancers were expected to stay backstage and quiet for the entirety of those 4 and a half hours… I just knew this would not go well. Four and a half HOURS? Um, that’s more than I usually sleep a night. Gheesh. I called one of my besties, Stacie, who is among other wonderful things, an amazing and talented dancer. She was blown away at the notion that 150 kids should be expected to remain quiet and entertained for that long. ( I had to call an expert and ask.. this time of year, my emotions rule and I didn’t know if being somewhat irritated at this request was rational or not.)

Thursday night, I set off to the store and stocked up on snacks, juice boxes, games and craft kits.. anything to keep Abby happy and help her class have fun. All the while, knowing that Abby may not make it through the ordeal.

Our class ordered one costume and were instructed to make another.  The recital rules were as follows:

1) Hair pulled back, all bows on right side only. No nail polish. Wear make-up.

2) NO panties. (Ever have to talk a 5-year-old into going commando? Needless to say, Abby wore panties… I know to pick my battles)

3) ALL dancers are to remain in the backstage hallway unless they are dancing!! (That’s one hallway, 150 kids, 150 stage moms… aka purgatory)

4) ALL dancers must stay until the finale!

Hubs and I were prepared for the worst. Abby seemed somewhat optimistic. I simply wasn’t buying it. Until….. she reminded me that if she danced, and stayed for the finale… she got a trophy. Hmmmm. Would the desire to hold her very own plastic golden dancer squelch her fears?

Let’s see………

Can you tell this is my sad attempt at costume making?

Nice form!

Abby and her besties from class…

Now, can you imagine keeping just these feet quiet backstage?Tap Tap Tap!

This picture reminds me of that horrible TLC show where Mom’s put their youngin’s in beauty pageants… the corn chips complete the look, I think. I got complaints that I didn’t apply her make up heavy enough… but seriously? Abby already likes to dance around poles at the playground.

Daddy, her Prince Charming, brought her flowers… he is her hero.

All in all, the two days of dance (one dress rehearsal then the recital) were a success… and one I almost look forward to next year.

Love y’all!

CeCe

My closest friend, Sombra, sent me an email early this spring. She was giving me a heads up that her season was approaching. I think as we all get older and put on our grown up hats, it’s an inevitable thing – seasons. When we are little and so much seems right in this world, we are taught all about Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.  We decorate our classrooms and in turn refrigerators with pictures of fall leaves, snow men, flower and beach balls. Seasons are a reminder that something new is on its way.  But, reading Sombra’s email, I knew that her season had nothing to do with forecasts and vacations. She was preparing for the torrential downpour of emotions that surround the anniversary of her Dad’s passing.

Tonight, I find myself in the midst of my own season. I am in the storm. I know I will make it out… and see my own rainbow. But for now, I just want y’all to know that I may not be quick to answer the phone, or respond to emails… I will make time for prayer requests… but that’s all I can muster right now. I miss him. We miss him.

CeCe

If y’all know me at all, you know I don’t just randomly endorse people or products. But this guy? Wow.

Friends, meet Mark. I have had the great pleasure of speaking with this man.. this success story… many times and he is the real deal. He is living proof that being a child of the system should never be your defining trait. Once in a very long while, do we meet people and hear that voice telling us to wake up and pay attention– this person may very well change the world. Well, I have no doubt that Mark will. Watch his video and vote for him. Have your friends vote… your readers.. everyone. I would be pleased to see him on TV!

Blessings!

CeCe

Sweet Abby,

We said goodbye to Four, here recently. And to be honest, I was a bit sad. I tucked you in, and kissed my sweet (most days) four year old goodbye with a tiny tear in my eye. You looked up at me, grabbed my hand in consolation and said, “Mommy, don’t be sad. I hear that being Five is magical. I will lose teeth and learn to read. Maybe I will cook dinner for real and not just pretend I did.”

We giggled at the thought… you poked me on the tip of my nose and turned over to go to sleep. I miss Four a little bit, but not half as much as I LOVE you! Here is to a Magical 5!

I love you!

Mommy

Abby and I made a 5 yr old Birthday Princess Hat!

Her birthday fell on Dance class Day! So we brought cupcakes!

Samantha, an awesome reader and amazing sister in Christ sent Abby WAY too many gifts alllll the way from South Africa!  Sam’s mom even sent some beautiful gifts for Abby and me! Such wonderful people and so kind! It made her day to get mail… and when she saw just how far the package came from she was so excited, she wept. She kept saying ” it’s just SO nice! All I did was pray for her! I guess I prayed so much that she’s our family now?”

So, Abby’s first magical moment came from Sam and God… a sweet gentle reminder that we are indeed all family.

Where have you found magic today?

The last seven days have been super odd here in the land of corn and mullets. Yes, I have renamed our state and hope to have that on my very own license plate soon…

Seriously, I have seen more mullets, Kentucky waterfalls, business casual – whatever you want to call that style atrocity more in this state than I ever did in Texas.

Ahem, back to task. I could simply write about all the craziness from the last week.. starting with being asked if we were bigots. Oh heck, I feel the need to write a list. I have had VERY little control over the events these  last several days and my hands are aching for the comfort that comes from making  lists. Lists are quite unlike mullets… there is no party in the back hiding behind the all business up front. There is just order, control and calm. People don’t take photos of you in Walmart if you have an extremely long list… but sport a mullet that goes down to your waist in your local Walmart? You might as well be shouting “Alright, Mr Demille, I am ready for my close-up!” to every iPhone using fail blogger in the state.

Mullets bad. Lists good.

Blessings From The Last Seven Days

• Our foster workers respect us enough to ask if we are indeed awful people instead of just assuming we are. Seriously, they are wonderful people and I could not respect them more. If all child welfare workers were like these three? The system would not be broken. Thank you Jesus for people who really care about these kids.
• The teen mom, addicted to drugs, who was placed with us so we could help her learn to raise her newborn may have run away while I was in the shower… BUT she did open the window I have been fighting to open for a year now. Thank you young mom for touching our hearts, and fixing that stinking window. Thank you Jesus for teaching us by example. We love our runaway teen and even though she will not be living with us, she will live in our prayers.
• Abby jumped, literally JUMPED while I was trimming her hair. What a blessing it is to have shoulder length hair to comb instead of her mid back mess of tangles. Thank you Jesus for the forgiveness you show and how you  plant the seed of forgiving grace in our children.
• While we may not be getting the precious newborn baby from the hospital that we thought we were going to get, we know the couple who is. They are sweet and will do wonderfully. I actually taught a class on attachment they attended. Thank you Jesus, for the couple who will love that baby with wild abandon and for rewarding their undying hope with a tiny little one to cherish.

What have y’all been blessed with this week?

Abby cannot pronounce some words yet. But she tries her best to find the context…. Today I was reading a Bible passage to mom… “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.”  Matthew 5:9 . It has been a hard week here.. and I have had my Bible out a lot. About an hour later.. Abby comes up to me and whispers..

“mom? I don’t want NaNa to be a peacemaker. Did you KNOW they have to change the battery in those things? Like Dale at church? He almost DIED!”

Goodness.

A few months back I told y’all about this woman and how I felt terrible for allowing her to be a part of our lives. Since then, she has made it some sort of mission to try and disrupt our home life, and tarnish our reputations. To the extent that I have had trolls commenting on this blog…. which is why all comments have to be moderated now.  Just tonight, we found out she is still trying to bring a darkness to our family life. I guess the battery to her peacemaker needs to be replaced.  For a few days I have been battling the nastiest sinus infection I have ever had and that is nothing in comparison to the sting of random and somewhat hurtful attacks by this chick. It’s a funny thing isn’t it?  Twenty people can tell you just how wonderful you are and the warm fuzzies dissipate in moments. But one person can make you feel small, even with outright lies, for days weeks or years on end.

And that got me thinking.

The other night, James and I were driving home from a movie date. I try to take James out to dinner and a movie every week or two so we can stay connected. He will be 15 soon and I know our mom and son time is fading. Ahem, wiping tears… Where was I? Oh yeah. Driving home.   When we got the the theater, it was chilly but not cold cold. We were both SO pleased to see spring emerging from the cold ground. After the movie as we got into the van, it started. Snow.  Now, our first inclination was to complain. But then, this peace came over us both. While driving and looking up at these big fat flakes coming at us like asteroids I said..

me: Ya know, snow always reminds me of God

James: Everything reminds you of God

me:  no really! It’s so dark and dirty on the street but just above us, there are perfectly pure, uniquely formed white flakes dancing… try it! Look down? Now Up!

** a few moments of silence pass**

James: Mom?

me: yes?

James: Thank you. I understand what you mean for the first time.

me: huh?

James: No amount of darkness can take away Light.  But even the smallest light takes the darkness away.

me: pretty cool huh?

James: Yeah. God is.

( As are you James. As are you.)

So, I will take the advice of my precious son… and look up.

God bless each of you. And may you find the light in your inner peacemaker.

Love,

CeCe

My name is CeCe and I am fat. Now, before y’all get all sugary sweet and try to blow rainbows up my granny panties, it’s ok. I know I am fat.  I have always been the chubby girl. Even though my body is built for comfort rather than speed, I workout, eat healthily and stay active. I am just fat.

There are many of us who may never see a size 8 grace our wardrobe in any other form than shoes.  Most of us have perfected the science and dare I say art of concealing our bulges and rolls. While we hate those wrap around mirrors in dressing rooms, we carefully scan our bodies for evidence of back fat, ham hocks, and the unseemly double breasted booby monster. We may be larger than some.. but we carry ourselves with grace and class.

So what is WITH these women wearing low waist-ed skinny jeans 4 sizes too small. Are they daring physics? Are they embracing their inner roller derby queen? OR is there some underground game where you accumulate points for every gasp or “Dear Lord” you hear?

For a couple years now, I have thought that maybe I just notice those women in the muffin topping cult more than most because I am so keenly aware of my appearance and how to carry myself in a way that no one yelps from eye pain. ( I swear to you all, I have not been in pubic without sucking my gut in, aside from the 23 months I have been pregnant, in 20 years) I thought, that maybe, just maybe these women don’t look odd to anyone else.

Until…..

The other day, while at the mall, Abby saw a member of the muffin top cult. She looked SO very sad as she wiped away a tear from her little forlorn face. I, like any mom, stooped down and asked her what was wrong. ( carefully bending at the knees as to prevent my butt from blinding people)

*****tangent*****  We have been talking a lot lately about how God has made each of us differently.. and some children may look different and possibly be sick. See, Abby has a great friend who is terminally ill, and she has some friends who are disabled that she met through other foster families… She has tried to embrace these differences and reminds us all that God never makes mistakes and each person is special and loved. ********tangent over********

I wiped her tears away and asked Abby again what was hurting her little heart. She looked as if someone had shattered her whole universe. Poor little toot that she is.

Abby: “Mommy, I think God made a MISTAKE!”

Me: “Oh, sweetie, God never makes mistakes. He is always right and true and pure. What do you think is His mistake?”

Abby:  “That lady over there? He put her Butt on her front!”

I tried. I promise each of you, I tried. I bit my lip until I thought it would bleed. I pinched my upper arm with my fingernails. I TRIED.  But the laughter won.

Muffin topping has caused me to laugh during an emotional outcry from my daughter. Muffin topping has caused Abby to see God as fallible. Muffin topping hurts. It worries kids, I imagine it causes all kinds of bacterial issues, and frankly? it makes my eyes hurt.

“Forever Young”

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young

Thank you Bob Dylan!

( And thank you James for letting me take a picture of you… teens. )

Dear Little One,

You entered the system a few weeks ago now. You entered our home mere hours later. To the world, this blog, lawyers and news outlets you  cannot be called by name. You exist to most as a  number. Whether it’s your case numeral, an added digit to abuse statistics or docket identifier… you are called by a series of digits. But, sweet little baby, you are so much more than that. You have a name. You have history in this world… some of which, I thank God you are far too small to remember.

You have a story, my sweet little visitor. Though you cannot speak of it, we are learning what you have endured in your short life. It hasn’t been easy for you, I know.  Yet you grin your little toothy grin, you long to be loved on, you are more than willing to give us big people another chance to cuddle you and smell your hair. You have been betrayed in ways that many of us cannot imagine, yet you light up a room with giggles.

A large portion of my heart wants to promise you that you will always be safe from grown-ups that would want nothing more than to riddle you with bruises. I can’t make that promise. I want to tell you that you will be here, in my lap, safe and happy for the rest of your childhood. But, that is not to be.  I know that tonight, you are ours. As I rocked you to sleep, you peered up at me and clearly said “Mama” and I could almost hear my heart break. I know we will not hold you here for long, but we will love you forever. So, take that sliver of heart that chipped off and sew it into yours. You are far too young to remember  that the first time  you were sung to sleep was here in my arms… but I? I will never forget.

I love you.

Mama

I have been planning something new for this blog. This week, was going to launch a whole new world on here… but life happened.

I cannot go into details, but our home has grown by two. Two very broken angels. SO this week, you may not hear from me…  but, it won’t be long before I am back… I can’t tell you the exact day… but I know it will be the day immeadiately following my first chance to sleep more than 4 hours a night and have a hot shower lasting more than 3 minutes.

For now, please pray for our home and for the two little angels we are trying our best to rebuild, even if they are here for just a little tiny bit.

God is our refuge and strength. An ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way… Psalm 46:1-2

I have been giving y’all the silent treatment this week for a reason. Three reasons actually.

1) I have on average 6,000 readers weekly. And 5 regularly commenting people. I have been worried about that… see, I read blogs that I rarely comment on, if ever, too. Mostly, because I feel that either I  have nothing of value to add OR I feel like I would be intruding. I’ve never been the cool girl …. in school or in life. In fact, the only person who thinks I am cool still wears pull-ups to bed. Please, if you read and want to say hi, do it. You will be welcomed and loved not just by me, but the other half dozen people who talk back to me on here. SO, unless my stats are lying to me, speak up.

2)  I have been cleaning like a crazy woman for our home visit… the first of the final three steps to complete our transfer to county. We passed the inspection, but I . can’t. stop. cleaning.  I think it may be a new PMS symptom? Or maybe the smell of pine o pine has finally gotten its way and made me an addict… the world may never know.

3) This one is important. Really important.

I just wanted to be quiet. Have a moment of silence, per se, for the people affected by the earth giving way in Haiti. So many of my favorite bloggers have written posts, or tweets or face book status updates on what they are doing to help. And that? is wonderful. What perplexed one of the greatest people I know (who I “met” because she commented on my blog.. ahem) perplexed me too… in fact, it kinda bothered me. When a well known and loved blogger posts about her funny quirks, or humorous accounts of family life.. she may get a veritable outpouring of comments and retweets. BUT when she mentions how she has and you could help an entire nation on its knees… crickets chirping. While children were DYING in the streets, women on facebook were posting what color bra they were wearing for breast cancer awareness (awareness is cheap. forget saving the ta-tas- lets save the women behind the breasts). Color me baffled. Heck, color me a little angry.  So, I have spent my hours this week reading the news and praying… yes, I donated to a reputable agency to help… I even called foster agencies in south Florida offering up our extra beds for displaced and orphaned children… but, it seems to me that most people would rather hear about how to make the perfect meatloaf or what just happened on Grey’s. So…  this week ( this post excluded) I am being quiet.

***** PLEASE NOTE: the “most people” I refer to are not you. I know y’all care. I know each of you have been praying, donating, and seeking God’s face in this time of tragedy. I am over generalizing, I know… but it is my blog… and my email account that will pay the price later for my tantrum.************

God is our refuge and strength. An ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way… Psalm 46:1-2

I have no other title for this. Tonight, I am in pain.

I started this blog for me. I mean, it’s wonderful that I have tens of readers and I adore each of y’all… love many of y’all. You have made my life fuller, blessed me with a fellowship that I cannot begin to explain and given me a voice. I still cannot believe that y’all read my thoughts and possibly even care about them. But, I started this blog for me. I needed to heal. I needed a safe place to express my feelings while keeping me accountable for what I say and do.

And tonight, I need to be completely raw and honest. I am in pain.

I have a twin sister. A handful of you know her, most of you do not. We have a fractured relationship. I cannot remember a single moment in the last twenty years that she and I have shared a happy moment together. I cannot think of a single moment in the last two decades where I felt that she knew me, much less loved me. We are just so very different… that’s what I tell myself. That’s what I tell others. We are just so different. But the truth is, something happened somewhere along the way that completely changed our relationship.

When I was sixteen, I was brutally raped by a family member of a friend. I should have said something to someone, anyone, but he told me that if I went to a soul about it, he would hurt my sister. I believed him. On many levels, I still believe him. Do I blame her for that? Of course not. While I was still putting salve on my inner thighs where he had put his cigarettes out on me, she was telling friends at our small town school that I was sleeping with my attacker. I guess, on some level, she knew something was up and wanted to push me into telling her? Or maybe she was just being childish and mean? Either way, I let it go and forgave her soon after.

When our mother had her stroke, she decided that The Teen, then a 5 year old, was a “bad child” who would end up on the front page of the paper one day. I will never forget when she yelled in the hospital that she hated him. She hated my son. I thought for sure, I could never let that go. The hurt I felt, well, there are no words. My whole world was(is) my son(now,children). In so many ways, he gave birth to who I am today. How could she ever say that about any child… about MY child. I am proud to say The Teen has made the paper more than a few times… all for being the wonderful kid he is. And while everyone from friends to family told me to write her off. I couldn’t. I let it go.

When she refused to learn how to care for mom after her stroke, or blamed her being a larger woman on her condition… or when she planned her wedding, knowing Abby’s due date, for five weeks post partum 1500 miles away and causally told us children were not welcome at her wedding – only to find out that children were indeed there. It was simply my kids who were not welcome… when instead of congratulating me on getting my RN, she told everyone I was an unemployed loser… When she ridiculed me for being Christian…I could not give up on her. I let it go.

I mean, I have a great life. I have a wonderful family life, success, beautiful children and amazing husband. I am generally very happy. I simply cannot find a reason to hold onto the hurt she hurled at me. I want to be my own worst critic.. you know, like everyone else? SO I would close my eyes, and pray for her. And… I let it go.

The night we lost Eli, I crawled into my mom’s lap and cried. Then, I called my Dad and gave him the bad news. Mom called my sister and probably half the western world while I rested in the bath… numb and scared. A month later, my sister called to tell me that she forgave me for ruining her baby shower (which was the day after we lost our little boy) and told me I was self centered for mourning a cluster of cells. I was halfway through my pregnancy… life is life as soon as it begins, yes. But, y’all, I was feeling him kick. It took EVERYTHING I had. It took a grace that only comes from God… but. I let it go.

My sister delivered her second child this morning. Precious. Perfect. A Blessing.

You might think that her having a baby when we no longer can is what is causing me such pain. And you would be wrong. The pain I feel is because, I have let go so many times… that I no longer feel connected enough to truly celebrate. I know that somewhere in the Bay Area of California, I have a new nephew. Born to a woman that I pray for, that I love… that I no longer know. One too many times, I just let go.

First, I want to confess something to all the tens of my readers. I have been avoiding you. December has been a difficult month to say the very least. I have lost contact with many of you and I am so sorry.

I have been hibernating sort of.  See, I have known for a while that I was being manipulated by someone… I have known that the enemy has been not just at my door, but allowed into our home. It’s too easy for me to see only good in people… that is for sure. But what’s worse, I sometimes seem to know in my heart that a person is a strife maker, and I still let them in… for a multitude of reasons… usually altruistic.

This time, if I am being completely honest, there was no altruism involved. I simply wanted what she had to say to be true. I NEEDED her words to be true… telling me that our path is an easy one, that she could get us exactly what we wanted and if she couldn’t her boss could. Man oh MAN I wanted to believe her. And on many levels, I have known that we were being played. But what she was selling… was almost worth the strife and lies.. was allllmost worth… worth what? Not too much later, favors started being asked… tasks, if you will. If any of you have watched any B Movies or drama series on The CW, you know where this was leading. We were at a crossroads. No blues guitar in hand… but hearts full of hope.

Some people sell their souls for fame. Some for money and power. Some people sell their souls and have no real idea that they have. I almost sold my soul, my sense of right, my need to glorify God,  for a baby.

As I write this, our fate lies in the hands of some people who may not understand why we are leaving their agency… they are angry, hurt, and at least one of them should be nervous. But, they have to write an evaluation on our family.. if we are decent people, would be good foster parents and the like. We will not know if we can proceed with the county until they have sent this evaluation on. I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. And I cannot believe I allowed such strife into our home.

I have asked Our Daddy for forgive me. And I hope you will forgive me too.

This is one of The Teen’s favorite songs… TobyMac’s Dad used to have this saying on his business card “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, but lose his soul?”

After talking to countless adoption agencies… and connecting with a few potential birth moms, we have come to a few decisions.

See, the private agency we were licensed with is moving toward private adoption and needed someone to do some field research. And those of you who truly know me… know I am a research whore. I LOVE all things investigative. So, of course, I volunteered. After speaking with hundreds of adoption agencies, facilitators and attorneys, I got swept away. And I drug Hubs with me. We were ready to abandon the foster parenting ship and straight adopt.. it was easier, quicker and way less painful.

We made fliers for private adoption, put together a financial plan for down payments for agencies… micro managed every single step to this quicker fix… It was quite like planning for an infertility treatment cycle. And I felt myself going into that dark corner of my soul. That dark corner contains my inner control freak, obsessive worry and self doubt.

A truly good friend felt that I was headed in that direction, but in her wonderful Godly way, she just quietly reminded me to listen to Our Daddy. And, this past week, Hubs and I decided to pray on it… to pray for Him to make it clear for us. And boy did He! We got a supernatural kick in the pants.

Several things have been brought to our attention regarding the agency we are licensed through and it is apparent that we are not a good fit with them.  Our hearts are true in our desire to make life better for as many little ones as we can… and after some very upsetting news about this agency… and some deep prayer and discussion,

We are starting over

We have sent in a request to transfer our foster license to the county where we will be more accessible to the children who need us. We are not going to straight adopt… we are going to be foster parents… caring for the least of these. I cannot begin to express the weight that has been lifted, knowing that we are following a plan that’s so much bigger than our desire for a baby, knowing that we will soon be associated with people who are honest and have a heart for the children they serve.

Please pray for us as we begin again.. new home inspections, new paperwork, new direction, renewed hope.

Love y’all,

CeCe

It will be harder.. it will be messy… it will be hands on and hearts openly breaking…. and the right path for us.

About two weeks ago, I did something stupid. I was working on a deadline using my handy dandy tray table to hold my laptop and just happily typing away. Mom called for me… from the bathroom… which? if you care for a parent, you know is never a good thing. SO I jumped up and ran towards the loo- never noticing that my foot had caught my power cord. Yeah. Lap top flies across the room in the direction of the cord… into my leg. I still don’t know who won the “notebook vs. leg battle” I had a huge black egg on my Achilles tendon and my hard drive died.

Long and somewhat embarrassing story short, I have been unplugged. I have been reduced to borrowing The Teen’s netbook to check FaceBook and shooting off quick emails on his tiny TINY maybe I need Bifocals keyboard.

I have a few things I need to blog about soon, and the new hard drive arrived today.. so perhaps this weekend, I can.. but

BUT tonight, I want to tell you guys how awesome you are. One particular reader and friend, Rachel, sent a HUGE box of Christmas for the foster kids at our agency. She is a gift to know… and now is a bearer of gifts to a group of children who need to know that they count, they are loved, and they can smile again.

Please take a moment to visit Rachel’s blog and thank her for being the amazing woman she is. (Also check out how ridiculously cute her little girl is!)

Till we meet again… I love y’all!!!

CeCe