7.28.2009
7.22.2009
You want me to what?
My BFF Heather called and said that she wanted the kids
and me to go Blueberry Picking with her and her kids.
She has asked us to do this several times over the past few years
and we always decline.
This year, maybe from lack of sleep or coffee-who knows, I said "yes".
We get up at 5:30 A.M., get dressed , have breakfast and drive to the
Blueberry Farm.
As soon as I open the car door I start to poor sweat.
Keep in mind we are in Mississippi and it is JULY.
Then I experience a flood of memories...My Great Grandmother's Orchard.
She had blueberries, apples,strawberries,figs..you name it.
I also remember being stung by bees,wasps,ants and being
chased away from the fig trees by birds....Suddenly this whole
thing seemed like a bad idea.
Surely , Heather did not think any of these things were fun.
I mean who likes sweat and ants, right?
Then I see her camera.
That's it!
This whole thing was an elaborate scheme to take
pictures of my children and profit from their Uber-cuteness!
Oh wait!
She was taking pictures of the ducks....Hmmmm.
Then I see
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
And This
And I think...........
Maybe this wasn't such a bad
way to spend the morning after all.
**** Caleb & Adam are not pictured because they are at home sleeping!
7.16.2009
What's Happening
I love my camera.
Adam is putting on weight! YAY!
His little cheeks are getting pudgy.
Ben has started teaching Adam tricks.........
I.E. The CHEESY THAGGARD picture grin .
Each day, when Stacy walks in the door, Mary screams"play checkers!"
She is getting really good.
This is what she does when she JUMPS your checker....
This is what she does as she is TAKING your checker
OR she is telling you to "King me, baby!".
Don't ya just love a 3 year old?
This is Adam's new nap spot.............
This is Mary's face while Adam is sleeping because she wants
Rachel to play....and Rachel can't move.
This week we were able to have lunch with Lily and then I had
lunch again with Lily and Janell and the whole Lifeline crew in Alabama.
We were goobers and forgot the camera on the day we had lunch with Lily and
yesterday I handed Karla the camera and FORGOT to take it off of MANUAL...
so I have 2 very blurry pictures of yesterday's group.
I am bummed.
Hopefully Janell's turned out better and she will email me a picture.....
HINT HINT.
That would be cool.
7.07.2009
Adam's Cowboy Kicks!
Paw Paw Doc is staring down from Heaven with a big smile.
Sisters
Our goats think that they are dogs.
The white Nanny is about to have babies!
YAY!
Ben showing Adam the correct way to scratch your booty while at the barn.
Our fat horses!
Caleb is in Madden for "Round 2" of the Riding Camps.
His little brothers and sisters have taken over "feeding time at the zoo".
Today we decided to take Adam and let him try out his new cowboy boots-compliments of Miss Lisa and the Covington Clan.
His feet adapted quickly to walking in boots and LOVED being outside.
Rachel and Mary wanted to jump around in the mud holes until we saw a water moccasin swimming up stream in the creek.
That ended that debate quickly.
Ah Nature..nothing makes muddy water look more unappealing than a viper looking straight at you.
Welcome to Mississippi.
7.06.2009
A MUST READ for every adoptive parent----NO---wait---ALL PARENTS!
I Don't Know
By Bert Ballard, PhD
I think I’m going to start a mantra.
I want everyone to say it with me.
I don’t know.
Good.
Say it again.
I don’t know.
One more time.
I don’t know.
I’m in my mid-thirties, an adopted person from Vietnam, evacuated during Operation Babylift. So I’ve been told, but I can never verify this.
I might have been at an orphanage called An Lac in Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City).
I might have been left on their doorstep by my older sister.
I might have been handed over on the tarmac before the plane took off.
But . . .
I don’t know.
Many times growing up I asked my mother, “Why was I at the orphanage?”
“Why was I born in Vietnam?” “What time was I born?” “What did my birth parents look like?” “Do I have family somewhere I’ve never met?” “Why am I so small . . . so skinny . . . a different color than all the other kids?”
My mother did the best she could. She answered,
I don’t know.
Today, I am a married father of two. I struggle with an inner ear disorder and anxiety. I see my children exhibit aspects of the latter. Maybe it’s genetic? Maybe it’s social and I’ve modeled it.
I don’t know.
I am expecting a referral for an adopted son from Vietnam. I have been waiting over two years. My wife and I had to start the process in two different countries. I wonder who my son will be. I wonder if he will struggle with the same things I will. I wonder if I will be a good father . . . a good role model . . . a good person. I wonder how this will affect me. Will it bring up issues? Fears? Worries? Things I thought were dealt with long ago? Things I never knew I would even struggle with?
I don’t know.
An adoptive parent asks me how to tell her transracially adopted child how to deal with racism. The look on the parent’s face when I encourage her to be vulnerable with her child, to sit with the child as the child struggles and cries, and to seek out help and know her limitations tells me she is disappointed in my answer. It isn’t a formula. It doesn’t remove her child’s pain. It asks the parent to open up, to risk, to share.
It says,
I don’t know.
An adoptive parent tells me it is hard to parent an older adopted child. He tells me it wasn’t what he expected. He says his child isn’t acting normal, can be a danger to himself and others. He tells me he is grieving. He tells me he doesn’t know what to do. I have no answers, but to love the child. To struggle with the child. To let the child go and pray the child comes back. I have no guarantees.
I don’t know.
An adoptive parent tells me her child has a hard time believing in God. She says her child questions why a supposedly loving God would separate her (the child) from her first family, her first parents. Why God would put her in a country where she doesn’t look like anyone her age and they would make fun of her. The parent tears up. She asks me, “What do I tell her?” I tell her to say these words:
I don’t know.
There is a pattern here. A pattern in my life that has become my mantra.
I don’t know.
I think it needs to become your mantra, too.
I don’t know.
We want to protect and shield our children. We want to shield them from pain. We want to overcome their primal wound, their original separation. We want to have our perfect family. We want to have all the answers.But we can’t. We can’t know everything about our children’s past. About the circumstances of their birth. About why they were adopted. About why their birth country is the way it is.
We can’t know everything about their genetic makeup.We can’t know if every tear, every struggle is about being adopted. Or just normal growing up.
And even if we do know, we can’t know how best to respond, because it changes every moment, each time it rears its ugly head.
And we can’t know if our response will aid or hinder . . . or draw us closer or push us away.
We can’t know if our kids will turn out okay.
If they’ll be safe for themselves or others. If they’ll make good spouses or life partners or parents. If they’ll make us proud or cause us more strife.
If adoption will dominate their identity or if they will come to terms with it.
If they will become educated, have successful careers, and look back on life and say they were happy and content
.Here’s what I do know.
Love means loving in spite of not knowing the answers, the reasons, the causes, the future.
No, scratch that. I don’t like that.
Love means loving BECAUSE of not knowing the answers, the reasons, the causes, the future.
Love means embracing the unknowns because what we don’t know will turn out to be better than anything we ever can know.
Love means not knowing is sometimes better than knowing, that even out of not knowing comes a healthy, productive, functioning individual who is a blessing to society and who has wonderful relationships and families.
Love means sometimes saying, “I don’t know” because sometimes that is the best and only thing to say.
Say it again.
I don’t know.
By Bert Ballard, PhD
I think I’m going to start a mantra.
I want everyone to say it with me.
I don’t know.
Good.
Say it again.
I don’t know.
One more time.
I don’t know.
I’m in my mid-thirties, an adopted person from Vietnam, evacuated during Operation Babylift. So I’ve been told, but I can never verify this.
I might have been at an orphanage called An Lac in Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City).
I might have been left on their doorstep by my older sister.
I might have been handed over on the tarmac before the plane took off.
But . . .
I don’t know.
Many times growing up I asked my mother, “Why was I at the orphanage?”
“Why was I born in Vietnam?” “What time was I born?” “What did my birth parents look like?” “Do I have family somewhere I’ve never met?” “Why am I so small . . . so skinny . . . a different color than all the other kids?”
My mother did the best she could. She answered,
I don’t know.
Today, I am a married father of two. I struggle with an inner ear disorder and anxiety. I see my children exhibit aspects of the latter. Maybe it’s genetic? Maybe it’s social and I’ve modeled it.
I don’t know.
I am expecting a referral for an adopted son from Vietnam. I have been waiting over two years. My wife and I had to start the process in two different countries. I wonder who my son will be. I wonder if he will struggle with the same things I will. I wonder if I will be a good father . . . a good role model . . . a good person. I wonder how this will affect me. Will it bring up issues? Fears? Worries? Things I thought were dealt with long ago? Things I never knew I would even struggle with?
I don’t know.
An adoptive parent asks me how to tell her transracially adopted child how to deal with racism. The look on the parent’s face when I encourage her to be vulnerable with her child, to sit with the child as the child struggles and cries, and to seek out help and know her limitations tells me she is disappointed in my answer. It isn’t a formula. It doesn’t remove her child’s pain. It asks the parent to open up, to risk, to share.
It says,
I don’t know.
An adoptive parent tells me it is hard to parent an older adopted child. He tells me it wasn’t what he expected. He says his child isn’t acting normal, can be a danger to himself and others. He tells me he is grieving. He tells me he doesn’t know what to do. I have no answers, but to love the child. To struggle with the child. To let the child go and pray the child comes back. I have no guarantees.
I don’t know.
An adoptive parent tells me her child has a hard time believing in God. She says her child questions why a supposedly loving God would separate her (the child) from her first family, her first parents. Why God would put her in a country where she doesn’t look like anyone her age and they would make fun of her. The parent tears up. She asks me, “What do I tell her?” I tell her to say these words:
I don’t know.
There is a pattern here. A pattern in my life that has become my mantra.
I don’t know.
I think it needs to become your mantra, too.
I don’t know.
We want to protect and shield our children. We want to shield them from pain. We want to overcome their primal wound, their original separation. We want to have our perfect family. We want to have all the answers.But we can’t. We can’t know everything about our children’s past. About the circumstances of their birth. About why they were adopted. About why their birth country is the way it is.
We can’t know everything about their genetic makeup.We can’t know if every tear, every struggle is about being adopted. Or just normal growing up.
And even if we do know, we can’t know how best to respond, because it changes every moment, each time it rears its ugly head.
And we can’t know if our response will aid or hinder . . . or draw us closer or push us away.
We can’t know if our kids will turn out okay.
If they’ll be safe for themselves or others. If they’ll make good spouses or life partners or parents. If they’ll make us proud or cause us more strife.
If adoption will dominate their identity or if they will come to terms with it.
If they will become educated, have successful careers, and look back on life and say they were happy and content
.Here’s what I do know.
Love means loving in spite of not knowing the answers, the reasons, the causes, the future.
No, scratch that. I don’t like that.
Love means loving BECAUSE of not knowing the answers, the reasons, the causes, the future.
Love means embracing the unknowns because what we don’t know will turn out to be better than anything we ever can know.
Love means not knowing is sometimes better than knowing, that even out of not knowing comes a healthy, productive, functioning individual who is a blessing to society and who has wonderful relationships and families.
Love means sometimes saying, “I don’t know” because sometimes that is the best and only thing to say.
Say it again.
I don’t know.
7.04.2009
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