My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

Just another dinner at our house

I never thought seating 6 people for an evening meal would be such a challenge. But, it is. And, it’s not something I can check off my to-do list and let out a sigh of relief that it’s done. Perhaps the most challenging part of sitting down together as a family for dinner is that it happens everyday.

Helen and Caleb are not nearly as challenging to corral as my clan. But, their presence at our table everyday has presented a new challenge—who is going to pray?

Before even all our seated, Caleb starts…

I’m going to pray!

I’ve learned the response I need to give immediately.

Wait. Wait. Not everyone is ready. Ashlyn’s getting her drink, and Drew’s still washing his hands. Hold on, please. You can’t pray until everyone’s here.

Then, Lydia starts.

No! I’m going to pray!

How about you both pray?

I’m first!

No, I’m first!

I’m certain this is not what Jesus meant when He told His disciples to be persistent in prayer.

Two mothers start dishing out words instead of noodles—one in English, one in Mandarin. Caleb starts crying. Lydia bangs her fist on the table with her face all scrunched up. And, I start wondering if we aren’t fit to pray at all or if we should spend the rest of the night in prayer!

That’s it. Caleb goes first and then Lydia. Tears supernaturally stop, and Lydia crosses her arms in protest.

Lord Jesus, thank you for our food. Thank you for our friends. Thank you for our house. Thank you for Mom and Dad. Thank you for your love. Thank you for Jesus. Amen.

Okay, no one move. Lydia’s turn. Lydia?

wait for it…wait for it…slowly…

Dear God, thank you for our day. I hope everyone enjoys their dinner. Amen.

Phew. There’s the sigh of relief I was looking for. Done.

Sort of…

No fair! My prayer was like 1 minute, and Caleb’s prayer was like 1 hour!

Oh, Lord, teach us to pray…and teach me to accept the increasing number of gray hairs that prayer-givers under 3 feet tall are giving me.

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(This couple who adamantly offers that they are going to marry needs to learn some better conflict resolution before tying the knot. #workcutoutforus)

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She’s sorry

She made a shofar out of our church bulletin yesterday. After I told her to stop blowing it loudly sounding a good bit like I imagine a killer whale to sound, I took it away, an act which resulted in her hitting me multiple times in the parking lot.

She humbly brought me this later that afternoon.

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Very sweet indeed.

Some of the significance of the moment, however, seemed a bit lost when she told me this with a smile before skipping off.

Mommy, you can keep this. And, whenever I do something bad, you can just read it again.

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Her first day of kindergarten #2014top10 #8

We had a lot of late night conversations the months after Drew was born. I wanted to adopt. Mark didn’t feel the same. He wasn’t opposed to adoption; he’s sort of…well…more like opposed to noise and chaos. A man who enjoys peace and quiet who has a needy 4 year old, an independent 2 year old, a still-unfolding-from-the-womb infant, and a wife talking about adopting a fourth child = noise and chaos in every way.

Many of those conversations ended with me saying this:

I’m afraid that if we don’t do it, we’ll regret it the rest of our lives. I know that when we put her on the bus for kindergarten, we’ll look at her and say, ‘I’m so glad we did it.’

I don’t really know why that particular image equaled the image of parental contentment and joy for me. At the time I was speaking those words and imagining the day, I had not yet put even one child on a school bus. I think I identified that moment as a new chapter, when my baby would leave the season of babyhood and become a little girl, when my role as mother would not be over by any means or even get any easier but it would change dramatically. No longer would I be essentially the only influence in her little life; now, I would have to coach her to use discernment with other influences.

I clung to that image of a blurred dark haired little girl climbing bus stairs too big for her and wearing a backpack that extended beyond her shoulders through our process of saying yes to adoption and eventually yes to her specifically. Over the last four years, that image remained a blur until this week.

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This week, my baby put on a quientessential kindergarten dress with blue mary janes. She asked for two braids, one on each side. She put on a backpack extending beyond her tiny frame full of sharpened Dixon Ticonderoga pencils, fresh crayons, and classroom tissues. And, she stepped outside for a new adventure.

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She said she wasn’t nervous, only “cited.” She played the part, smiling big for the camera at the bus stop where moms and dads took pictures of their children too.

And, then we gathered around her to pray for her. And, she got a little more serious. And, so did I.

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The bus took forever, a literal reminder every minute of the significance of the moment every stop along the way to us. Every mom was saying goodbye to her baby. Every baby was thinking about things, wondering what color carpet square she’d get or if she’d make a friend that day.

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I think some babies maybe thought about things a little more than others.

Until flashing lights were in sight.

And loud brakes were heard.

And big doors opened to what seemed like even bigger steps.

And it was time to go.

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Just like that. She grabbed the railing and climbed the stairs.

My baby.

My little girl.

No longer an image in my imagination but my daughter.

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She looked back. And, I couldn’t look away.

And then, my heart rode away on a big yellow school bus.

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I’m so glad we did it. 

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