As I was reading a post today on facebook, it occurred to me just important chores are in the lives of our family members. When we first adopted our big family of five, I knew that it was going to take everything that we had to make not only our family dynamics work, but also our household as well. And so, that is when the infamous "chore list" was born.
There are a number of basic chores that every household needs done in order to survive. There are also those chores that while they do not need to be done everyday, they still need to addressed. Kind of like the care of clothes, they have to be washed everyday, but every now and then there is a tear or a button missing that I have to sit down and fix. Thus, it is the same with the chores.
I started with a chalk board posted in the kitchen in an area that each child could easily see. I listed each child's name, their chore (based on there age and ability), and then a space for there dish night date. We had baths, dust, floors, set/clear, put laundry away, small trashes, large trashes, and yard. Then in each room, I place a list of what needed to be done for that particular chore, that way, there was never any second guessing by the children. The chores were pretty easy with none of them taking more than 20 minutes a night and if their chore didn't need to be done, that was their call to make. If the said chore did not get done, a check was placed by the persons name, and after two checks in one week, another chore would be added just for inspiration. I also awarded every week the child who had done there chore very well by doing that chore for the next week myself.
Usually, we never had any problems with the chores being done and done properly, but every now and then, some child would get an unusually busy week, which was either fun outside activities, or be on the phone in "love conversations". A few times, when this happened and there were no legitimate reasons for their slacking on the said chores, by the end of the week that child would just about be doing every chore in the house. Which, in itself, brought great joy to the other children and quite an attitude to the offender, which for me was worse than a dirty house.
I prided myself on the "chore list" because not only did it keep our home running smoothly, but it taught our children to take responsibility for caring for a household. My children can all iron, do laundry, and properly clean any room in the house. And over the years, as our needs as a family change, children moved out into homes of their own, the job list has been modified and updated. That's one nice thing about a large family, nothing ever stays the same.
I think over the years though their has been a few times when the children slacked off, and "Momma" stepped into make a point...
It's five o'clock, and as usual, four sets of big wide eyes, are staring at me from over the counter. "We're hungry, when we gonna' eat?" those eyes seemed to implore. I just kept smiling as I cleared the schoolwork off the table, as I set the table, as I placed the food on the table...I called all of the children to eat. We all joined hands as Tim prayed and then Tim smiled at me and the children started reaching for the food. "Hey, this stuff is cold and the hamburger meat is raw in that dish!" they all said in amazement and looking to see what the joke was.
But the laughter quickly died down when they saw the smile leave my face, "Today and this past week, instead of being your Momma, I have had to spend my days doing all of your chores. These chores have kept me busy all day. I can either be your Mother or your maid. Today , I was your maid and so your Momma just didn't have time to cook. Sorry, you'll have to eat it raw." I said matter of factly and placed my hot cooked food on my plate and their dad's plate as well. Believe me, the point was definitely made as they ate peanut butter and jelly while Tim and I enjoyed their favorite cooked meal, plus desert.
I guess the moral to the story is that chores are important. They need to be enforced, and sometimes they need to be modified. They teach our children the importance of responsibility,the importance of a clean home, and also the important role of parents in their lives.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Toiletries...
As a Momma to nine children and a Grammie to four children, I have been blessed with some pretty good material for entertainment. It occurred to me this morning as Katce screamed from the echoing bathroom, "Momma, come look at my poop!", that perhaps no one person has to do more gross things than we mothers do. I do not know why it is so important that I look at my children's poop, but to them, it is or was (depending on the age) very important. So I went in the bathroom and made a big deal out of my youngest daughters latest deposit to the sewer. The poop really wasn't out of the norm, nothing great . I mean, I would not have sold tickets or anything. But to Katce, it was a monumental occasion, so I clapped and told her, "Good job!" Really what else is a mother to say?
I started to ponder and I realized that a lot of funny, forgive the pun, crap has happened in or around our bathrooms over the years. So at the risk being too risky, here goes....
Flunking the "Pee Test"
I remember the time one of our sons had to have a urine test before minor surgery. I took him into the bathroom and said, "Here's this cup. Now just fill it up and when you're done leave it on the sink."
My son nodded in total understanding and so I left and shut the door. Ten minutes later, he still was not out of the bathroom. People with glazed over eyes, were starting to plan a "Coo", so I got in the front of the line and knocked. "Honey, what are you doing in there?" I asked rather embarrassed.
"Mom, you need to come in here!" a voice from the other side exclaimed in a panic. I opened the door slowly and slid in. Oh my goodness, there was pee everywhere.
"Son, what the heck happened?" I asked trying to grasp how this much pee could get all over and how we were gonna clean it up.
"Well Mom, I'll tell ya. I filled that cup three times and never fell once while I was dumping back into the toilet- until that last time. Then I fell and it spilled everywhere! can i be done Momma because i really don't think I can fill it up one more time...." he answered, his big brown eyes defeated.
"It's okay Bubby. We'll clean this up and take a break. Since you did so good, let's just fill it up once next time and leave it on the sink., okay?" The boy nodded and we went to work cleaning up the mess only to spend the next 30 minutes drinking water to make more urine for the test....
The End of the Roll...
Apparently when our children were in foster care, they were not allowed to put their toilet paper in the toilet, but had to put it in the trash. Now I found this completely gross, and insisted that everyone place their paper in the toilet and flush. Well, this was great fun for a couple of our children, but one child in particular was thrilled that he could not only flush the toilet himself, but with paper too, and so the game was on. Every time this child went to the bathroom, it would take him like thirty minutes. His game was to see how much paper he could get in there before it wouldn't flush. And the answer is? It takes approximately one and a half rolls before you have to realistically call a plumber. However, if you have pooped first, you can get away with one roll. Unfortunately, the latter was the plumbers problem.
It Gets a Little Touchy
I have always been a strong advocate that out children have a "hands on" kind of childhood. I let them play with pudding, mud pies, sugar, really anything they wanted to touch and get dirty with, I just let them. So keeping this in mind, imagine my surprise when I hear Joshua yell, "Mom...(gag).. come here quick (gag again)...Katie-Grace is ...well...she's in here squishing her poop (gag and then start to throw up)...you really gotta get her (gag) and make her stop!"
I come running in and sure enough, she had both her hands up to her elbows in the toilet bow, just having the time of her life! "Katce, did you poop in the potty?" I asked trying not to laugh.
"No Momma, I din't hab too..." she said matter of factly. This statement sent Josh clear into the next county and I just sort of stared at her in unbelief. There really wasn't much I could do, so I pulled her hands out, washed her up, gave her a lecture and not playing with our poop, emphasizing that we didn't play with anyone else's either...
The Little Differences
"Momma, you come here quick...real quick Momma...it's a urgency (emergency)!" I hear Dragos scream in terror! I race into the the bathroom and count my three kids who were bathing together...sheesh....they were all there and all above the 5 inches of water.
"Dragos, you scared the crap out of Momma. What's the emergency?" hands on hips waiting for an explanation.
"Momma, Mare-Mare's wost her Weeah? She stand up and it gone!" he answered in total terror.
"Honey", I tried not to laugh, "Mare-Mare doesn't have a weeah, because she's a girl!"
"Well, dat good cause I wooked in dis tub and it ain't in here! What do she got?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed together.
FIRE
When you have a lot of children, one of your worst nightmares is a fire in the house. I mean I know that no one wants a fire in their home, but for me the frightening thought of finding and getting them all out, is ten times more scary. Unfortunately, one hot summer day...
"Momma, is dat fire sposed to be cummin outta dat dishwahser?" Timara asked inquisitively.
I looked at her, grabbed her, and screamed, "No baby, the house is on fire!" I ushered her out. Began yelling at the other kids and watched them get out while I was frantically calling 911.
"Jeff, Tierney's in the shower....get her out and get outta this house!" I commanded my nine year old son. he did as he was told and yelled at the bathroom door and went outside.
The fire department came while I was extinguishing the fire and began cutting into our home, and filling the place with water. All of the sudden, the bathroom door opened and out popped Tierney in a towel. "Tierney, what the heck are you doing in the shower?" I snapped at her.
"Mom, getting clean," she laughed, "and why are all of these firemen here?" she asked innocently.
"Apparently to see you in a towel!" Tim informed her. Her face got beat red as she pulled her towel up.
"Why didn't you get out when Jeff told you?" I demand.
"Mom! You know they always say there's a fire when they want in...I thought they were just wanting in!"....Poor kid never took a calm shower again....
Over the years we have had more toiletry stories, but those are some of my favorites...what about you....surely, I'm not the only person who has toilet humor everyday!
I started to ponder and I realized that a lot of funny, forgive the pun, crap has happened in or around our bathrooms over the years. So at the risk being too risky, here goes....
Flunking the "Pee Test"
I remember the time one of our sons had to have a urine test before minor surgery. I took him into the bathroom and said, "Here's this cup. Now just fill it up and when you're done leave it on the sink."
My son nodded in total understanding and so I left and shut the door. Ten minutes later, he still was not out of the bathroom. People with glazed over eyes, were starting to plan a "Coo", so I got in the front of the line and knocked. "Honey, what are you doing in there?" I asked rather embarrassed.
"Mom, you need to come in here!" a voice from the other side exclaimed in a panic. I opened the door slowly and slid in. Oh my goodness, there was pee everywhere.
"Son, what the heck happened?" I asked trying to grasp how this much pee could get all over and how we were gonna clean it up.
"Well Mom, I'll tell ya. I filled that cup three times and never fell once while I was dumping back into the toilet- until that last time. Then I fell and it spilled everywhere! can i be done Momma because i really don't think I can fill it up one more time...." he answered, his big brown eyes defeated.
"It's okay Bubby. We'll clean this up and take a break. Since you did so good, let's just fill it up once next time and leave it on the sink., okay?" The boy nodded and we went to work cleaning up the mess only to spend the next 30 minutes drinking water to make more urine for the test....
The End of the Roll...
Apparently when our children were in foster care, they were not allowed to put their toilet paper in the toilet, but had to put it in the trash. Now I found this completely gross, and insisted that everyone place their paper in the toilet and flush. Well, this was great fun for a couple of our children, but one child in particular was thrilled that he could not only flush the toilet himself, but with paper too, and so the game was on. Every time this child went to the bathroom, it would take him like thirty minutes. His game was to see how much paper he could get in there before it wouldn't flush. And the answer is? It takes approximately one and a half rolls before you have to realistically call a plumber. However, if you have pooped first, you can get away with one roll. Unfortunately, the latter was the plumbers problem.
It Gets a Little Touchy
I have always been a strong advocate that out children have a "hands on" kind of childhood. I let them play with pudding, mud pies, sugar, really anything they wanted to touch and get dirty with, I just let them. So keeping this in mind, imagine my surprise when I hear Joshua yell, "Mom...(gag).. come here quick (gag again)...Katie-Grace is ...well...she's in here squishing her poop (gag and then start to throw up)...you really gotta get her (gag) and make her stop!"
I come running in and sure enough, she had both her hands up to her elbows in the toilet bow, just having the time of her life! "Katce, did you poop in the potty?" I asked trying not to laugh.
"No Momma, I din't hab too..." she said matter of factly. This statement sent Josh clear into the next county and I just sort of stared at her in unbelief. There really wasn't much I could do, so I pulled her hands out, washed her up, gave her a lecture and not playing with our poop, emphasizing that we didn't play with anyone else's either...
The Little Differences
"Momma, you come here quick...real quick Momma...it's a urgency (emergency)!" I hear Dragos scream in terror! I race into the the bathroom and count my three kids who were bathing together...sheesh....they were all there and all above the 5 inches of water.
"Dragos, you scared the crap out of Momma. What's the emergency?" hands on hips waiting for an explanation.
"Momma, Mare-Mare's wost her Weeah? She stand up and it gone!" he answered in total terror.
"Honey", I tried not to laugh, "Mare-Mare doesn't have a weeah, because she's a girl!"
"Well, dat good cause I wooked in dis tub and it ain't in here! What do she got?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed together.
FIRE
When you have a lot of children, one of your worst nightmares is a fire in the house. I mean I know that no one wants a fire in their home, but for me the frightening thought of finding and getting them all out, is ten times more scary. Unfortunately, one hot summer day...
"Momma, is dat fire sposed to be cummin outta dat dishwahser?" Timara asked inquisitively.
I looked at her, grabbed her, and screamed, "No baby, the house is on fire!" I ushered her out. Began yelling at the other kids and watched them get out while I was frantically calling 911.
"Jeff, Tierney's in the shower....get her out and get outta this house!" I commanded my nine year old son. he did as he was told and yelled at the bathroom door and went outside.
The fire department came while I was extinguishing the fire and began cutting into our home, and filling the place with water. All of the sudden, the bathroom door opened and out popped Tierney in a towel. "Tierney, what the heck are you doing in the shower?" I snapped at her.
"Mom, getting clean," she laughed, "and why are all of these firemen here?" she asked innocently.
"Apparently to see you in a towel!" Tim informed her. Her face got beat red as she pulled her towel up.
"Why didn't you get out when Jeff told you?" I demand.
"Mom! You know they always say there's a fire when they want in...I thought they were just wanting in!"....Poor kid never took a calm shower again....
Over the years we have had more toiletry stories, but those are some of my favorites...what about you....surely, I'm not the only person who has toilet humor everyday!
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
All the Trimmings....Grandbabies...
I stood outside the hospital room door as I listened to my little girl give birth to her child, my first Grandchild, and I wept. I wanted to go in. I wanted to ease her "natural" pain, but I had been banned to the hallway. My daughter and her husband are big on privacy and intimacy, so I had to lay low and wait until they were ready for me to become a part of the "birthing world".
And so I waited, and waited, and waited. Suddenly, there was a hush, and as my son-in-law's mother stood by me with our ears pressed against the door, we heard a cry. At first it was soft, but then it became very loud and feisty. Finally, a "Grammie and Nanna" were born! I grabbed her hand and raced with Katie as fast as I could back to the waitingroom to wait for Ben to tell us the good news. We could hear the nurses snickering as we ran because they actually propped the door open so we could hear what was going on in that hospital room.
Ten minutes later Ben appeared with the biggest blessing of my life, my Grandson, Caleb Owen Aronin.
I just stared. He was so beautiful. We went down to the room and after they cleaned him up a bit, they placed him in my arms and that was it. I would never be the same. My heart melted as I saw our future together in the years to come where I would do anything to make this child happy. He looked deep into my eyes in that moment and I began to croon to him, my heart dancing inside that this new life would actually be mine to share in forever. And of course, he was perfect. I kissed his hands, his little toes, checked him out in every way that they'd let me.
I looked over at my daughter, Lacey, and I realized that our bond would never be the same. She was a mother now and I would have to step back and let her mother and love her child in her own way and not my way. I would have to hush my mouth and only give advice when it was sought, not when it could be rendered. I would have to watch her make mistakes, flounder, and perhaps shed many tears. That would be hard for an overprotective mother and now grandmother like me. But I could do it. I could and would be the best Grammie that this child would ever have....
The Best Grandma...
I would stand at the doorway yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, "Is she here yet? Where is she Momma? I want Grandma Marian now!" I would wait by the door forever for her because she was the best. Then soon, as we pressed our noses up against the window, she would pull in the drive, get out with her little bag of treats and head for the door.
"Grandma's here and boy did I bring you some fun treats to day!" she'd giggle and one by one she would hand out the greatest treats in the world. There would be decorated cookies, designer candy, and small toys. We would look up at her with such love, wonder, and amazement, thanking her over and over as she stood looking down on us in all her glory.
The other kids would always scamper off and leave, but I would not. I would sit at my Grandma's feet and play while she and my mother had coffee and chatted and gossipped. I would learn all of the juicy stuff that happened everywhere. The aroma of coffee and cigarettes would fill the air as they laughed and chuckled for what seemed like hours. Oh how I loved her!
She would take me, her "Dolly" every Friday that she could, down to the hair salon and buy me a candy bar and a coke. I would be in a cute little dress (Grandma loved cute little dresses), and I would sit with my feet dangling from a big hairdryer chair. I would hang on every word that me Grandma and the other women would say. They would talk about the soap opera Days of Our Lives, and men, and all the events of the day. Every now and then Grandma would say, "Gads" which I knew meant that they had crossed the line in conversation and shocked Grandma. The conversation would quickly change and more talk would ensue. Then we would leave and have lunch across town at the boarding house with Blanche (who wore enough make-up to scare any child), and I would play with her white poodle with the bow and red nail polish. What heaven! Those days as a child with Grandma made life worth living!
As I grew up, we began to have different traditions, go out for Belgian waffles (her favorite), go to a banquet, go shopping, and later I'd take her and help her run errands. I would spend many Saturdays hemming her pants, sewing her dresses, and listening to the latest gossip. Her "fitting sessions" were like going back in time for me when I laid at her feet and listened to she and my mother gossip the afternoon away. I could, as a young teenager and adult confide everything to her. She would listen intently, giving her opinion, and then watching to see if I was going to adhere to what she said (sometimes I did not) or go my own way. If I went down the wrong path, she was always, always there to support me. She was everything every little girl could want in a Grandma. She was pink carnations and Jergen's lotion and mint green. She was pretty birthday packages, pretty cakes, and a perfectionist. She was and is, one of the strongest influences I have ever known.
Then one early morning the phone rang. You know the call that no one wants to get? Tim looked at me, his face taunt, "Honey, Grandma Marian's gone. Sweetness, she passed away from a heart attack at home!".....the pain that ensued and the great loss I felt, has still and will always leave a deep scarring hole in my heart for a woman who meant more to me then any other woman in the world...
I spoke at her funeral, reading this poem that I had written earlier the previous day. With a heart heavy with grief, I paid homage to the best "Grandma" in the world.....
And so I waited, and waited, and waited. Suddenly, there was a hush, and as my son-in-law's mother stood by me with our ears pressed against the door, we heard a cry. At first it was soft, but then it became very loud and feisty. Finally, a "Grammie and Nanna" were born! I grabbed her hand and raced with Katie as fast as I could back to the waitingroom to wait for Ben to tell us the good news. We could hear the nurses snickering as we ran because they actually propped the door open so we could hear what was going on in that hospital room.
Ten minutes later Ben appeared with the biggest blessing of my life, my Grandson, Caleb Owen Aronin.
I just stared. He was so beautiful. We went down to the room and after they cleaned him up a bit, they placed him in my arms and that was it. I would never be the same. My heart melted as I saw our future together in the years to come where I would do anything to make this child happy. He looked deep into my eyes in that moment and I began to croon to him, my heart dancing inside that this new life would actually be mine to share in forever. And of course, he was perfect. I kissed his hands, his little toes, checked him out in every way that they'd let me.
I looked over at my daughter, Lacey, and I realized that our bond would never be the same. She was a mother now and I would have to step back and let her mother and love her child in her own way and not my way. I would have to hush my mouth and only give advice when it was sought, not when it could be rendered. I would have to watch her make mistakes, flounder, and perhaps shed many tears. That would be hard for an overprotective mother and now grandmother like me. But I could do it. I could and would be the best Grammie that this child would ever have....
The Best Grandma...
I would stand at the doorway yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, "Is she here yet? Where is she Momma? I want Grandma Marian now!" I would wait by the door forever for her because she was the best. Then soon, as we pressed our noses up against the window, she would pull in the drive, get out with her little bag of treats and head for the door.
"Grandma's here and boy did I bring you some fun treats to day!" she'd giggle and one by one she would hand out the greatest treats in the world. There would be decorated cookies, designer candy, and small toys. We would look up at her with such love, wonder, and amazement, thanking her over and over as she stood looking down on us in all her glory.
The other kids would always scamper off and leave, but I would not. I would sit at my Grandma's feet and play while she and my mother had coffee and chatted and gossipped. I would learn all of the juicy stuff that happened everywhere. The aroma of coffee and cigarettes would fill the air as they laughed and chuckled for what seemed like hours. Oh how I loved her!
She would take me, her "Dolly" every Friday that she could, down to the hair salon and buy me a candy bar and a coke. I would be in a cute little dress (Grandma loved cute little dresses), and I would sit with my feet dangling from a big hairdryer chair. I would hang on every word that me Grandma and the other women would say. They would talk about the soap opera Days of Our Lives, and men, and all the events of the day. Every now and then Grandma would say, "Gads" which I knew meant that they had crossed the line in conversation and shocked Grandma. The conversation would quickly change and more talk would ensue. Then we would leave and have lunch across town at the boarding house with Blanche (who wore enough make-up to scare any child), and I would play with her white poodle with the bow and red nail polish. What heaven! Those days as a child with Grandma made life worth living!
As I grew up, we began to have different traditions, go out for Belgian waffles (her favorite), go to a banquet, go shopping, and later I'd take her and help her run errands. I would spend many Saturdays hemming her pants, sewing her dresses, and listening to the latest gossip. Her "fitting sessions" were like going back in time for me when I laid at her feet and listened to she and my mother gossip the afternoon away. I could, as a young teenager and adult confide everything to her. She would listen intently, giving her opinion, and then watching to see if I was going to adhere to what she said (sometimes I did not) or go my own way. If I went down the wrong path, she was always, always there to support me. She was everything every little girl could want in a Grandma. She was pink carnations and Jergen's lotion and mint green. She was pretty birthday packages, pretty cakes, and a perfectionist. She was and is, one of the strongest influences I have ever known.
Then one early morning the phone rang. You know the call that no one wants to get? Tim looked at me, his face taunt, "Honey, Grandma Marian's gone. Sweetness, she passed away from a heart attack at home!".....the pain that ensued and the great loss I felt, has still and will always leave a deep scarring hole in my heart for a woman who meant more to me then any other woman in the world...
I spoke at her funeral, reading this poem that I had written earlier the previous day. With a heart heavy with grief, I paid homage to the best "Grandma" in the world.....
"Grandma's Dolly"
The baby cried so softly,
as she peered from through the glass,
her prayers were finally answered,
her "Dolly" was here at last.
The "Dolly" she adored her,
it was a "love at first sight",
a life-long bond was formed between them,
that late January night.
She spoiled the little toddler,
buying her candy and a pop,
the two became a common sight,
Fridays at the beauty shop
Dolly'd listen to the gossip,
watch the lady "tease " her hair,
Dolly's feet would dangle loudly
as she sipped cola from her chair.
And...
all I ever had to do
was reach for Grandma's hand,
she gently soothed my tenders fears
as only Grandmas can.
Sometimes she'd call up Dolly, and take her to a play
or meet for Belgium waffles,
and laugh til their sides ached.
Dolly'd send her pink carnations,
the only flower that would do,
they seem to make her happiest,
and say, "I sure love you!"
Together they'd go shopping,
of course they'd buy mint green,
it wasn't Dolly's favorite color,
but to her it was so keen.
And...
all I ever had to do
was reach for Grandma's hand,
she gently soothed my tender fears
as only Grandmas can.
One day Dolly came to see her,
she made a big mistake,
Dolly found out that she was pregnant,
unwed choices left to make.
Dolly thought that she would hate her,
because she'd brought to her this shame,
but she opened her arms and held her
telling Dolly there'd be no blame.
It wouldn't be the first time
her Dolly'd make an awful choice,
but she'd never condemn her precious girl,
her nays she'd never voice,
And...
all I ever had to do
was reach for Grandma's hand,
she gently soothed my tender fears
as only Grandmas can.
Then came the dreaded phone call,
Dolly'd "Favorite" she was ill,
her heart was medically broken
they couldn't fix it with a pill.
they couldn't fix it with a pill.
But Dolly wouldn't leave her there
she drove sixty miles each way,
to see her treasured loved one
each and every day.
The doctors seemed to fix her,
she healed and felt brand new,
Dolly'd watch her live her life again
and thank God for miracles too.
And...
all I ever had to do
was reach for Grandma's hand,
she gently soothed my tender fears
as only Gramdmas can.
The years they passed so swiftly
and Dolly had finally grown,
a wedding, a home, eight children,
a family of her own.
Yet she never ever wavered,
she'd send all the grandkids a gift,
never missed a Christmas or birthday,
their happiness her only wish.
And though their were few visits,
few gifts and ne'er a call,
she loved each and every grandchild,
it was her only fault.
And...
all I ever had to do
was reach for Grandma's hand,
she gently soothed my tender fears
as only Grandmas can.
She loved her precious Dolly
and never said a word,
as Dolly's family moved so far away,
only distant voices to be heard.
Her eyes began to falter,
she couldn't see a thing,
she longed for Dolly's visits,
and Christmas bells yet ti ring.
And oh how they would celebrate
and catch up on the news,
making the most of those valued times,
for now they were so few.
And...
all I ever had to do
was reach for Grandma's hand,
she gently soothed my tender fears
as only Grandmas can.
She stepped out of the auto,
she reached for Dolly's hand,
she held it tightly to steady herself,
until she could finally stand.
the lady she was waiting,
to fix her Gramma's hair,
as Dolly sat down beside her,
with her cola and her chair.
her feet no longer dangled
as her eyes filled up with tears,
and she watched her treasured Gramma
turn older through the years.
And...
All she ever had to do
was reach for Dolly's hand,
she gently sothed her tender fears
as only Granddaughters can.
I do not have my Grandma,
she has gone to be with God.
her hand I shall never hold again,
it seems so very odd.
I so miss being her "Dolly"
and though I'm all full grown,
I'll always be the little girl
who had the finest Grandma ever known.
with love,
always,
Kari "Dolly" Burd
Friday, September 14, 2012
The Square of Reward...Baby Katie-Grace
Sometimes in life, God asks us to give up our dreams in order for Him to do His will. I had to give up my dream of raising an infant with Tim in order for us to adopt our five children from New York. It was very hard for me to do this, because I am selfish when it comes to infants and the need to love, snuggle, and cuddle a baby never seems to go away from me. But I loved those kids from New York more than I loved the dream, and so over the years, the dream faded into a fond memory as sometimes unfulfilled dreams do.
Then one day, while I was minding my own business, I was approached by two parents who had just found out that their young, teenage daughter was going to have a child in two months. Because of privacy issues, there are some things I cannot divulge, but I can say, that this little girl loved, and I believe, wanted to raise her child very much. But due to other social issues within her home and subsequent family, adoption became her only option.
Now, I had known this girl for a long time. We had a nice relationship and I already loved her, which made thinking of adopting her baby much easier. However, her family, on both sides, had dramatic issues in their gene pool, which I must admit, scared the stink out of both Tim and I.
We kept waffling back and forth, trying to decide if adopting this child with all of her family ramifications would work for us. I mean, we had a great thing going with the kids we already had. Everyone was happy and healthy and for the most part, we had overcome any major obstacles that we had been faced with. So, we decided through much prayer and deliberating that we would not adopt this child. We had not told the family, but as far as I knew, that was mine and Tim's joint amiable decision.
Then one day as I sat typing in the den, Tim came to me. He was serious and quiet, and when I looked up at him, he had tears in his eyes. He turned my chair to face him, got down an bended knee, and hoarsely uttered, "Kari, I watched Jeff play basketball tonight. I watched him score, steal, and win. I watched him have the time of his life. He would be no where without us, you know he wouldn't. If we do not take this baby, we are negating everything that we have taught our children about adoption. WE have to take it, please, we have too!" And he stayed on the knee and just stared deep into my eyes.
And without hesitation, because I had wanted this child all along I answered him.."Okay, okay, I've been feeling the same way. I think that you are right. This baby is supposed to be a part of this family....I guess we are going to be new old parents?" I gave him a huge hug and he spun me around, okay maybe he just lifted me a little, but the effect was still the same.
And so, we began the preparations. We bought things, borrowed things, and I sewed things, all for a little bundle scheduled to come into our lives in just a few short weeks.
It was decided that this would be a verbal open adoption. We made a bedroom for the birth mother so that she could come and stay anytime she wanted. We also offered to take guardianship of her and help her raise this baby on her own, but her strong family ties forbade it. They were not willing to assist her in raising this child. She would be Mommy and I would be Momma. It was different and very unconventional, but I believe that a child can never get enough love. And because this little girl had such a kind gentle spirit, I knew sharing motherhood with her would only be a blessing.
To say this was the hardest adoption we had ever experienced would be a real accurate description of the truth. There were family fights from the birth mother's family. Trouble, at first, with the biological father. Many financial, legal, and social ramifications. Yet in those short weeks, she has persevered, and clung to this adoption idea. Until one day....
It was a beautiful spring day, not too cold, not too hot, and there was a soft breeze. I remember the weather because the birth mother and I were standing on the soccer field watching Tim coach soccer. I had been sensing a reluctance on her part to get too intimate with me and so I knew something was up, but I just had no idea what. "Kari, I can't do this. I really love my baby and I cannot give it up...I just can't...".
I looked at her in unbelief. Was she crazy? She was only fourteen years old. How did she think she was going to raise this baby? Oh my word, I have a houseful of kids expecting this baby, baby stuff everywhere, and I am in love with being this child's mother. Was she completely insane? "And Sweetie, just how do you think that you're going to this?" I carefully and quietly asked her as I stared out to the field.
"Oh", she said in a happy childlike voice, "I'm gonna put all of it's stuff with my stuff in the trailer with my folks. It'll be so cool!" She was all skipping full of joy, almost dancing with her little childlike plans.
"Okay, so who is going to watch the baby while you're at school? And when are you going to sleep if you're up all night and gone to school in the day And who is going to buy diapers and clothes and all the things babies need?" I asked, trying to stay cool and calm, but reeling inside at the thought of losing this child now.
She looked distant and said,"Oh, I dunno, but I'm pretty sure that it'll be okay. Ya, know, really neat!" She just stood there whimsically looking away.
What could I do? This was her child. This was her decision to make. But I was crushed. Really crushed. I started to think I was going to throw up and I began to tear up and shake. And I walked away from her. I couldn't speak. I couldn't reason, heck, I could barely even function.
I went straight o Tim and took his hand. "She's changed her mind..," I began crying.
"What...what the heck?" he looked over at her as she just stood staring at the kids and holding her belly.
"She's changed her mind. She says she's gonna raise the baby herself in that small trailer bedroom. Her parents won't even support her, " I choked back a sob. "I gotta get outta here and leave for awhile." I began to get ill. "Just take her to the house, get all of her stuff for her and the baby and take her home...just take her home... we gotta let her do this...she's crazy, but we can't take her baby...she's gotta want us to have it..."
"Okay, okay,...you go and I'll take care of this...." Tim watched as I left. He was dumbfounded.
"And Tim, tell her I love her..." I said looking back at him and I ran to the car.
Where would I go and who would I talk to? I went to my sister's and after a pretty disastrous conversation that was about how this was probably for the best, I hysterically left. Didn't anyone get this? What the heck? I was losing another baby. A baby I didn't even initially want. I was losing my dream again. Once again, God asked me to do the impossible. I reluctantly obeyed. But now without warning the rug was being pulled out from underneath me. What was I going to do?
I went to the only other place I knew to go and that was the church. I quietly walked into the sanctuary and sat down and sobbed. I sobbed forever. I prayed. I pleaded. I begged. I sassed. I bawled. I sat. And finally, I looked up at Him and said, "I have done everything that you've ever asked of me. Everything! I have married a man that I knew was dying. I nursed my mother to her death. I've adopted six children. I attend church every time I can. I even embraced this mother, this child, and this whole mess of a dramatic family. And now? Now you take it away from me? I'm done with You. Done. I'll raise my children in a Christian home. I'll obey Your rules. But don't ever, EVER, ask anything of me again. I won't do it. I'm done with this!" And I marched my proud, little self right out into the street and meandered towards my car.
Just when I went to reach the handle, I heard a voice as quiet, but stern as can be, "You wait right here Abraham. I told you to lay Isaac down on that alter. Lay him down. If you will obey me and lay him down, I will take care of this. You stop worrying about this baby and worry about it's mother. She's the one in trouble now. Your job is this mother, and mine is her baby..." I looked around to see if anyone had heard this or could see me. Nope...it was just me and God.
I got in my car and sat down. What did this mean? Was I insane. Surely I was insane. I started to drive home. I couldn't tell anyone about this. Who'd believe this. I'd had encounters with God before, but nothing like this. Yikes!
When I got home I went straight into a room unnoticed. What could I do? I had all this emotion piled in my head. So I called a very dear friend to tell her about the baby's birth mother's decision."Don't give up. This is not over. This baby is supposed to be your baby. It will be your greatest blessing. Kari, can you deny that this baby's spirit is in your heart?" I knew I could not. I loved that baby with all my being, with every fiber in me. So we prayed together about the situation. Actually, she prayed and I listened. Then, we said we loved each other and hung up.
Tim was there waiting in the kitchen and all her stuff was gone. I began to cry just as the phone rang. It was our birth mother changing her mind. She said she was wrong. She said that there had been constant fighting in the hours since she had been home.She said that she was just wishing things could be different and that she loved her baby so much. She wanted us to come and get the baby's things and still adopt it. "I will take care of this. You stop worrying about this baby and worry about it's mother. She's the one in trouble now. Your job is this mother, and mine is her baby...". But Tim and I talked it over and told her to wait a week or so and make sure that adoption was truly what she wanted. And so that's how we left it.
Ten days later she was back into our home spending the night, arranging the baby's things, and visiting when she went into labor. Her labor turned into a C-section and with her dad by her side, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Katie-Grace Danielle. It was the name we collaborated on together.
The hospital stay was horrid. The family was yelling and fighting all the time. The parents especially nitpicking and berating Katce's mommy. The nurses, doctors, and even staff were worried. No one took care of Katce or changed her except me and the hospital staff. The birth mother had a bed for me in the room with her and the nurses had a crying room for me down the hall. There was still a real chance she could change her mind again and we had to allow for that. And it was so hard to watch one so young, make such a huge decision. It broke my heart because I loved that birth mother so fiercely and wanted to adopt her also.
"Are you sure? Really sure this is what you want to do? If it's not, you tell me now and I'll walk away. Just give me a couple of weeks to get it together and I'll come and help." I asked her as we were preparing to leave the hospital.
She held her little girl in her arms, and I choked up.The nurse began to have tears running down her cheeks as she held tight to the wheelchair. "Yes," she whispered, "I cannot raise her with them. I just can't."
"Then come stay with me. We'll fight for custody and raise the both of you..." I told her as she started to waiver.
"No, I want to be with my dad, and I want you to have her...I can't raise her with them" and she placed that baby in my arms and she sucked up her tears, forced a smile on her face, and told the nurse she was ready.
We followed her to the car and she got in and with her childlike innocence, she waved "Good-bye"- good-bye to us and to her child. And at that moment and in that instance, a HERO was born in our hearts.
As we took our little girl home and placed her in her cradle, both saying a prayer for the little girl we had lost that day and for the little girl we won....
Then one day, while I was minding my own business, I was approached by two parents who had just found out that their young, teenage daughter was going to have a child in two months. Because of privacy issues, there are some things I cannot divulge, but I can say, that this little girl loved, and I believe, wanted to raise her child very much. But due to other social issues within her home and subsequent family, adoption became her only option.
Now, I had known this girl for a long time. We had a nice relationship and I already loved her, which made thinking of adopting her baby much easier. However, her family, on both sides, had dramatic issues in their gene pool, which I must admit, scared the stink out of both Tim and I.
We kept waffling back and forth, trying to decide if adopting this child with all of her family ramifications would work for us. I mean, we had a great thing going with the kids we already had. Everyone was happy and healthy and for the most part, we had overcome any major obstacles that we had been faced with. So, we decided through much prayer and deliberating that we would not adopt this child. We had not told the family, but as far as I knew, that was mine and Tim's joint amiable decision.
Then one day as I sat typing in the den, Tim came to me. He was serious and quiet, and when I looked up at him, he had tears in his eyes. He turned my chair to face him, got down an bended knee, and hoarsely uttered, "Kari, I watched Jeff play basketball tonight. I watched him score, steal, and win. I watched him have the time of his life. He would be no where without us, you know he wouldn't. If we do not take this baby, we are negating everything that we have taught our children about adoption. WE have to take it, please, we have too!" And he stayed on the knee and just stared deep into my eyes.
And without hesitation, because I had wanted this child all along I answered him.."Okay, okay, I've been feeling the same way. I think that you are right. This baby is supposed to be a part of this family....I guess we are going to be new old parents?" I gave him a huge hug and he spun me around, okay maybe he just lifted me a little, but the effect was still the same.
And so, we began the preparations. We bought things, borrowed things, and I sewed things, all for a little bundle scheduled to come into our lives in just a few short weeks.
It was decided that this would be a verbal open adoption. We made a bedroom for the birth mother so that she could come and stay anytime she wanted. We also offered to take guardianship of her and help her raise this baby on her own, but her strong family ties forbade it. They were not willing to assist her in raising this child. She would be Mommy and I would be Momma. It was different and very unconventional, but I believe that a child can never get enough love. And because this little girl had such a kind gentle spirit, I knew sharing motherhood with her would only be a blessing.
To say this was the hardest adoption we had ever experienced would be a real accurate description of the truth. There were family fights from the birth mother's family. Trouble, at first, with the biological father. Many financial, legal, and social ramifications. Yet in those short weeks, she has persevered, and clung to this adoption idea. Until one day....
It was a beautiful spring day, not too cold, not too hot, and there was a soft breeze. I remember the weather because the birth mother and I were standing on the soccer field watching Tim coach soccer. I had been sensing a reluctance on her part to get too intimate with me and so I knew something was up, but I just had no idea what. "Kari, I can't do this. I really love my baby and I cannot give it up...I just can't...".
I looked at her in unbelief. Was she crazy? She was only fourteen years old. How did she think she was going to raise this baby? Oh my word, I have a houseful of kids expecting this baby, baby stuff everywhere, and I am in love with being this child's mother. Was she completely insane? "And Sweetie, just how do you think that you're going to this?" I carefully and quietly asked her as I stared out to the field.
"Oh", she said in a happy childlike voice, "I'm gonna put all of it's stuff with my stuff in the trailer with my folks. It'll be so cool!" She was all skipping full of joy, almost dancing with her little childlike plans.
"Okay, so who is going to watch the baby while you're at school? And when are you going to sleep if you're up all night and gone to school in the day And who is going to buy diapers and clothes and all the things babies need?" I asked, trying to stay cool and calm, but reeling inside at the thought of losing this child now.
She looked distant and said,"Oh, I dunno, but I'm pretty sure that it'll be okay. Ya, know, really neat!" She just stood there whimsically looking away.
What could I do? This was her child. This was her decision to make. But I was crushed. Really crushed. I started to think I was going to throw up and I began to tear up and shake. And I walked away from her. I couldn't speak. I couldn't reason, heck, I could barely even function.
I went straight o Tim and took his hand. "She's changed her mind..," I began crying.
"What...what the heck?" he looked over at her as she just stood staring at the kids and holding her belly.
"She's changed her mind. She says she's gonna raise the baby herself in that small trailer bedroom. Her parents won't even support her, " I choked back a sob. "I gotta get outta here and leave for awhile." I began to get ill. "Just take her to the house, get all of her stuff for her and the baby and take her home...just take her home... we gotta let her do this...she's crazy, but we can't take her baby...she's gotta want us to have it..."
"Okay, okay,...you go and I'll take care of this...." Tim watched as I left. He was dumbfounded.
"And Tim, tell her I love her..." I said looking back at him and I ran to the car.
Where would I go and who would I talk to? I went to my sister's and after a pretty disastrous conversation that was about how this was probably for the best, I hysterically left. Didn't anyone get this? What the heck? I was losing another baby. A baby I didn't even initially want. I was losing my dream again. Once again, God asked me to do the impossible. I reluctantly obeyed. But now without warning the rug was being pulled out from underneath me. What was I going to do?
I went to the only other place I knew to go and that was the church. I quietly walked into the sanctuary and sat down and sobbed. I sobbed forever. I prayed. I pleaded. I begged. I sassed. I bawled. I sat. And finally, I looked up at Him and said, "I have done everything that you've ever asked of me. Everything! I have married a man that I knew was dying. I nursed my mother to her death. I've adopted six children. I attend church every time I can. I even embraced this mother, this child, and this whole mess of a dramatic family. And now? Now you take it away from me? I'm done with You. Done. I'll raise my children in a Christian home. I'll obey Your rules. But don't ever, EVER, ask anything of me again. I won't do it. I'm done with this!" And I marched my proud, little self right out into the street and meandered towards my car.
Just when I went to reach the handle, I heard a voice as quiet, but stern as can be, "You wait right here Abraham. I told you to lay Isaac down on that alter. Lay him down. If you will obey me and lay him down, I will take care of this. You stop worrying about this baby and worry about it's mother. She's the one in trouble now. Your job is this mother, and mine is her baby..." I looked around to see if anyone had heard this or could see me. Nope...it was just me and God.
I got in my car and sat down. What did this mean? Was I insane. Surely I was insane. I started to drive home. I couldn't tell anyone about this. Who'd believe this. I'd had encounters with God before, but nothing like this. Yikes!
When I got home I went straight into a room unnoticed. What could I do? I had all this emotion piled in my head. So I called a very dear friend to tell her about the baby's birth mother's decision."Don't give up. This is not over. This baby is supposed to be your baby. It will be your greatest blessing. Kari, can you deny that this baby's spirit is in your heart?" I knew I could not. I loved that baby with all my being, with every fiber in me. So we prayed together about the situation. Actually, she prayed and I listened. Then, we said we loved each other and hung up.
Tim was there waiting in the kitchen and all her stuff was gone. I began to cry just as the phone rang. It was our birth mother changing her mind. She said she was wrong. She said that there had been constant fighting in the hours since she had been home.She said that she was just wishing things could be different and that she loved her baby so much. She wanted us to come and get the baby's things and still adopt it. "I will take care of this. You stop worrying about this baby and worry about it's mother. She's the one in trouble now. Your job is this mother, and mine is her baby...". But Tim and I talked it over and told her to wait a week or so and make sure that adoption was truly what she wanted. And so that's how we left it.
Ten days later she was back into our home spending the night, arranging the baby's things, and visiting when she went into labor. Her labor turned into a C-section and with her dad by her side, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Katie-Grace Danielle. It was the name we collaborated on together.
The hospital stay was horrid. The family was yelling and fighting all the time. The parents especially nitpicking and berating Katce's mommy. The nurses, doctors, and even staff were worried. No one took care of Katce or changed her except me and the hospital staff. The birth mother had a bed for me in the room with her and the nurses had a crying room for me down the hall. There was still a real chance she could change her mind again and we had to allow for that. And it was so hard to watch one so young, make such a huge decision. It broke my heart because I loved that birth mother so fiercely and wanted to adopt her also.
"Are you sure? Really sure this is what you want to do? If it's not, you tell me now and I'll walk away. Just give me a couple of weeks to get it together and I'll come and help." I asked her as we were preparing to leave the hospital.
She held her little girl in her arms, and I choked up.The nurse began to have tears running down her cheeks as she held tight to the wheelchair. "Yes," she whispered, "I cannot raise her with them. I just can't."
"Then come stay with me. We'll fight for custody and raise the both of you..." I told her as she started to waiver.
"No, I want to be with my dad, and I want you to have her...I can't raise her with them" and she placed that baby in my arms and she sucked up her tears, forced a smile on her face, and told the nurse she was ready.
We followed her to the car and she got in and with her childlike innocence, she waved "Good-bye"- good-bye to us and to her child. And at that moment and in that instance, a HERO was born in our hearts.
As we took our little girl home and placed her in her cradle, both saying a prayer for the little girl we had lost that day and for the little girl we won....
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Dear Momma of an Angel
Dear Momma,
I do not know you and you do not know me. Yet, I believe that if we met, we would know each other perhaps better than our closest friends know us. Because you see, I too am feeling the pain that you are feeling today. Although it has been a year and a half since I found my son shot by his own hand, I bury him over again almost every day in my heart.
While you stood over your child's grave today, I stood with you in my heart and I ached for you. I ached that you will never see her precious face again. I ached that you could never hold or caress her beautiful little hand. I ached that you would never ever be able to watch lay asleep in quite the same way because this time she'll never wake up.
You didn't know that I could barely get through work today because I longed to run to you and hold you and tell you that it'll be okay. That eventually you will be able to breath even if for just a few minutes. I longed to tell you, that right now is when you will find out who your true "friends" and "family" are. I longed to tell you to be still and just wait on God before you make any rash choices that you'll regret.
When I looked at the clock and realized that soon you would go to the cemetery to say one final good-bye, I wanted to be there and hold your hand and stroke your hair and wipe away the pain that you have. Because I know that we would not wish that pain on anyone. I wanted to whisper in your ear, "Hush now, just hush, and try to get through this".
And now as I relax after this long day, I wonder if you are alone. I wonder if you ate anything or if anyone has asked you what they can do for you. I wonder if you are so exhausted that you will allow yourself to sleep or if you will fight it for another night because waking up to this nightmare is worth the insomnia.
Tomorrow, and the next day and the next, I will think of you. As I stand by my son's grave and ask, "Why?" will you be standing next to her grave too? Will you ask God to take it all back and join me in my constant battle with Him to make me understand? Or will you just press your face against her stone like I do his and feel the coldness touch your very soul.
In this next hour and in these next days and in these next months, I will be with you. No, I will probably never meet you, but I will pray and think of you every time I experience a first Thanksgiving, a first Christmas, and the all important first birthday. I will be with you when you look up suddenly and you are sure she's standing there, but the girl turns around and it is not her. I will be there when her friend graduates, gets married, and has a child.
You see, I will always be there for you because no one knows these hurts except a mother who has lost a child to this horrid death. And all I ask in return for this time I spend with you in prayer, is that when you look across the room, to the next Momma who will walk in our shoes, is that you be with her every moment, of every day, of every month, of every year. And that she will know, that you know the pain she is feeling and that some how, some way, you will be healed just a little bit by trying to ease this tender wound that will scar, but never ever go away.
Love Always,
The Momma of Jeffrey David Burd 7/21/1990 - 3/21/2011
I do not know you and you do not know me. Yet, I believe that if we met, we would know each other perhaps better than our closest friends know us. Because you see, I too am feeling the pain that you are feeling today. Although it has been a year and a half since I found my son shot by his own hand, I bury him over again almost every day in my heart.
While you stood over your child's grave today, I stood with you in my heart and I ached for you. I ached that you will never see her precious face again. I ached that you could never hold or caress her beautiful little hand. I ached that you would never ever be able to watch lay asleep in quite the same way because this time she'll never wake up.
You didn't know that I could barely get through work today because I longed to run to you and hold you and tell you that it'll be okay. That eventually you will be able to breath even if for just a few minutes. I longed to tell you, that right now is when you will find out who your true "friends" and "family" are. I longed to tell you to be still and just wait on God before you make any rash choices that you'll regret.
When I looked at the clock and realized that soon you would go to the cemetery to say one final good-bye, I wanted to be there and hold your hand and stroke your hair and wipe away the pain that you have. Because I know that we would not wish that pain on anyone. I wanted to whisper in your ear, "Hush now, just hush, and try to get through this".
And now as I relax after this long day, I wonder if you are alone. I wonder if you ate anything or if anyone has asked you what they can do for you. I wonder if you are so exhausted that you will allow yourself to sleep or if you will fight it for another night because waking up to this nightmare is worth the insomnia.
Tomorrow, and the next day and the next, I will think of you. As I stand by my son's grave and ask, "Why?" will you be standing next to her grave too? Will you ask God to take it all back and join me in my constant battle with Him to make me understand? Or will you just press your face against her stone like I do his and feel the coldness touch your very soul.
In this next hour and in these next days and in these next months, I will be with you. No, I will probably never meet you, but I will pray and think of you every time I experience a first Thanksgiving, a first Christmas, and the all important first birthday. I will be with you when you look up suddenly and you are sure she's standing there, but the girl turns around and it is not her. I will be there when her friend graduates, gets married, and has a child.
You see, I will always be there for you because no one knows these hurts except a mother who has lost a child to this horrid death. And all I ask in return for this time I spend with you in prayer, is that when you look across the room, to the next Momma who will walk in our shoes, is that you be with her every moment, of every day, of every month, of every year. And that she will know, that you know the pain she is feeling and that some how, some way, you will be healed just a little bit by trying to ease this tender wound that will scar, but never ever go away.
Love Always,
The Momma of Jeffrey David Burd 7/21/1990 - 3/21/2011
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
The Squares of Faith....the adoption of the Five....
As quietly as I could whisper so as to not wake anyone I prayed this silent prayer. "Please God, could we just have an adiition to our family...please?"
Sometimes in life, God has asked too much from me or at least that is what I initially believe. And in those moments, I have come to realize that my greatest weaknesses have become my greatest strengths. It is with this in mind that I ask you to read this next excerpt.
After we adopted Dragos, the overwhelming joy we felt with the adoption process was wonderful. Although his adoption had been a long hard struggle, we were assured that that wasn't usually the norm. With this in mind we decided to try again, this time through the Marshal Islands. Since we already had a home study in place, all that was really needed was some minimal paperwork and the wait for our new bundle would start. But little did I know that as I waited for our birth mother to have our child, Tim had other plans for us and apparently so did God.
Tim began to surf the Internet daily looking at children that had been freed for adoption. Everyday he'd come home and just look. I never questioned why, I really didn't care because I figured, knowing how much he loved being a Daddy, that we'd have more children someday....someday. So about two months into our newest adoption, Tim yells, "Hey Honey! Want to come in here and look at these kids?" Now this happened about twenty times a night so I'd go in look at the photos and nod."It says that this kid needs a Father! That could be me! His name is Jeffrey. Look! Just look how cute they are!....." and his voice trailed off as he clicked through each child's photo.
"Five... there are five of them? What in the world we do with five black kids in Nashville, Michigan. What would we do with five kids period?" I gasp, trying to grasp the reality of what he was showing me. But the look on his face said that he certainly wasn't going to let this go.
"Let's just email. It'll be no big deal!", he plead and giving my nod of approval, the email was sent.
I truly gave that day no more thought, I mean what were the odds, and I had my baby coming. We'd be a perfect family of six. It'd be a perfect life.
But then, days later, another yell..."Honey, New York emailed us back and they want to see a home study. They're really interested in us...." and there we went again. He was determined but I was skeptical enough that I knew nothing would come of it. Guess I was wrong...
"Uhh Honey, think you could come in here and sit down? We need to talk, I mean really talk." Tim looked intent and I was really scared. What could be so important that I had to sit down, and in the den no less. "Look, New York emailed us back. They said we're the best home study they've ever seen and they want us to come and see these kids. They'll pay for everything. I think we've got a shot at getting them, Kari, a real shot. I could be this kid's Dad...." and he pointed to Jeffrey again.
Now I'll admit, these kids were cute and they looked like they'd be a real treat to parent, but I wasn't convinced. In fact, I stared at him in unbelief, "Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind. Five, Tim, there are five. And Tim, have you noticed? They are black, Tim, black as night. I don't know that I've ever even spoke to a black person. I don't know as I have ever even met a black person. And Tim? We are white...have you noticed? And Tim, we live in a white community. How would we raise them and what about their culture? And Tim, five, five kids. Where would we put them and how could we afford them? And Tim, what about the baby in the Marshal Islands?' My mind just raced with how nuts this conversation was.
"We can do this. We can. Black kids are no different than white kids. And I'll build more bedrooms. And I'll work overtime. We can get out of the adoption for the baby. Everyone wants a baby, but nobody wants these five kids. It'll be great Honey...no problem..." He had an answer for everything.
"Of course it'd be great for you. You get up and leave at five in the morning and I'd be raising them until five in the afternoon. Plus washing, dishes....Tim if I wanted a litter...we'd have gone invitro...are you crazy...no...no... this isn't gonna happen. I can't do it, Tim,...I can't ...end of discussion. Don't ask about it again!" and I walked out. I walked out on him and I walked out on them. We didn't speak for two days. I didn't talk, sleep with, or even acknowledge Tim Burd unless absolutely necessary. I would have my newborn baby. I would have my life with my children. I would know I could handle them. I couldn't mother five more. Five kids who someone had harmed. Five kids who'd been drug babies. What was he thinking? But as the days passed, my conscience was getting the best of me...
Sitting in the truck all dressed up to go to an important dinner Tim and I road in silence. You can do this Kari- you can. I promise that I'll never give you more then you can handle. You prayed for an addition to your family. This is that addition. You have watched your husband die, nursed your mother to her death, and adopted a child who was supposed to die...you can do this...I promise..." and God spoke this to me as clear as could be. I didn't argue. I didn't fuss. I just obeyed. I don't know why. I just know I did.
"Tim, let's do it. Let's go to New York and meet these kids," I quietly whispered as I took his hand...
"We'll meet them at a park...", I heard Tim say as we drove through New York weeks later. I was so nervous and with Dragos and the girls in tow, we were on our way to meet those five kids. We got out of a car and met at a sort of "park wanna be" place. Just a bunch of wood nailed together in paths.
And there they were, five black beautiful children. They looked small. They looked scared. They looked how I felt. Oh, they were so beautiful. The oldest girl whose name was Tierney, was eleven and had the most captivating smile. It lit up the whole world. She was sort of stand offish and guarded, which I considered at the time to be normal. The next child was a boy, the one in the photo. His name was Jeffrey. He was eight years old. He was very handsome and was trying really hard to hate us, but underneath his frown was a grin just trying to peek out. Then there was six year old Joshua. He didn't say much, just studied us. He didn't look quite like the other kids. A little more buff, with charming facial features. After that there was little three year old James who just smiled and smiled and talked a mile a minute. His eyes danced in circles of naughtiness and he made you want to hold him (which I already was). Finally, the youngest was three year old Timara. Now she was a little "spit fire" if I ever saw one. Tough as nails, with big almond eyes, and a "live wire" personality. She wanted to be down and running and as fast as she could, she was.
And we were in love. I don't think in my life I have ever been so sure and unsure of a situation in my life. I knew I could parent these kids. I just didn't know how. I knew I loved these kids. I just didn't know if it would be enough. I was sure I could handle the little ones, but Jeffrey and Tierney scared the stink out of me. They were guarded, and scared, and they'd been hurt- really hurt on the inside. The kind of hurt that only God can heal. But when I looked at them, at those small, unloved, lovable faces- I knew I had to try. Tim knew it too. And so that night as Tim and I lay in the hotel room with Tierney (she loved her visit with us so much that she'd asked to stay the night), we made the decision to parent these kids.
We met them in September and by November, they were sleeping their own beds, with their own hand stitched blankets, in their own rooms, with their own clothes, in their own house. There was a fifteen passenger van parked in our driveway. There were dirty clothes everyday. There was homework. There was big huge meals. But...there was nonstop laughter. Nonstop naughtiness. There was an endless string of toys. There was happiness. More joy and happiness then I thought I could ever know. Did I miss that little baby boy in the Marshal Islands whom was later adopted and named Oliver? Yes, sometimes I did. But the reality of my new dream never ever gave me pause to regret the beautiful spirited children who called me "Momma".
And today as I reflect on those first years, I cannot help but smile that we survived, those children and us, but we did, and we will, because that's what families do....
Sometimes in life, God has asked too much from me or at least that is what I initially believe. And in those moments, I have come to realize that my greatest weaknesses have become my greatest strengths. It is with this in mind that I ask you to read this next excerpt.
After we adopted Dragos, the overwhelming joy we felt with the adoption process was wonderful. Although his adoption had been a long hard struggle, we were assured that that wasn't usually the norm. With this in mind we decided to try again, this time through the Marshal Islands. Since we already had a home study in place, all that was really needed was some minimal paperwork and the wait for our new bundle would start. But little did I know that as I waited for our birth mother to have our child, Tim had other plans for us and apparently so did God.
Tim began to surf the Internet daily looking at children that had been freed for adoption. Everyday he'd come home and just look. I never questioned why, I really didn't care because I figured, knowing how much he loved being a Daddy, that we'd have more children someday....someday. So about two months into our newest adoption, Tim yells, "Hey Honey! Want to come in here and look at these kids?" Now this happened about twenty times a night so I'd go in look at the photos and nod."It says that this kid needs a Father! That could be me! His name is Jeffrey. Look! Just look how cute they are!....." and his voice trailed off as he clicked through each child's photo.
"Five... there are five of them? What in the world we do with five black kids in Nashville, Michigan. What would we do with five kids period?" I gasp, trying to grasp the reality of what he was showing me. But the look on his face said that he certainly wasn't going to let this go.
"Let's just email. It'll be no big deal!", he plead and giving my nod of approval, the email was sent.
I truly gave that day no more thought, I mean what were the odds, and I had my baby coming. We'd be a perfect family of six. It'd be a perfect life.
But then, days later, another yell..."Honey, New York emailed us back and they want to see a home study. They're really interested in us...." and there we went again. He was determined but I was skeptical enough that I knew nothing would come of it. Guess I was wrong...
"Uhh Honey, think you could come in here and sit down? We need to talk, I mean really talk." Tim looked intent and I was really scared. What could be so important that I had to sit down, and in the den no less. "Look, New York emailed us back. They said we're the best home study they've ever seen and they want us to come and see these kids. They'll pay for everything. I think we've got a shot at getting them, Kari, a real shot. I could be this kid's Dad...." and he pointed to Jeffrey again.
Now I'll admit, these kids were cute and they looked like they'd be a real treat to parent, but I wasn't convinced. In fact, I stared at him in unbelief, "Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind. Five, Tim, there are five. And Tim, have you noticed? They are black, Tim, black as night. I don't know that I've ever even spoke to a black person. I don't know as I have ever even met a black person. And Tim? We are white...have you noticed? And Tim, we live in a white community. How would we raise them and what about their culture? And Tim, five, five kids. Where would we put them and how could we afford them? And Tim, what about the baby in the Marshal Islands?' My mind just raced with how nuts this conversation was.
"We can do this. We can. Black kids are no different than white kids. And I'll build more bedrooms. And I'll work overtime. We can get out of the adoption for the baby. Everyone wants a baby, but nobody wants these five kids. It'll be great Honey...no problem..." He had an answer for everything.
"Of course it'd be great for you. You get up and leave at five in the morning and I'd be raising them until five in the afternoon. Plus washing, dishes....Tim if I wanted a litter...we'd have gone invitro...are you crazy...no...no... this isn't gonna happen. I can't do it, Tim,...I can't ...end of discussion. Don't ask about it again!" and I walked out. I walked out on him and I walked out on them. We didn't speak for two days. I didn't talk, sleep with, or even acknowledge Tim Burd unless absolutely necessary. I would have my newborn baby. I would have my life with my children. I would know I could handle them. I couldn't mother five more. Five kids who someone had harmed. Five kids who'd been drug babies. What was he thinking? But as the days passed, my conscience was getting the best of me...
Sitting in the truck all dressed up to go to an important dinner Tim and I road in silence. You can do this Kari- you can. I promise that I'll never give you more then you can handle. You prayed for an addition to your family. This is that addition. You have watched your husband die, nursed your mother to her death, and adopted a child who was supposed to die...you can do this...I promise..." and God spoke this to me as clear as could be. I didn't argue. I didn't fuss. I just obeyed. I don't know why. I just know I did.
"Tim, let's do it. Let's go to New York and meet these kids," I quietly whispered as I took his hand...
"We'll meet them at a park...", I heard Tim say as we drove through New York weeks later. I was so nervous and with Dragos and the girls in tow, we were on our way to meet those five kids. We got out of a car and met at a sort of "park wanna be" place. Just a bunch of wood nailed together in paths.
And there they were, five black beautiful children. They looked small. They looked scared. They looked how I felt. Oh, they were so beautiful. The oldest girl whose name was Tierney, was eleven and had the most captivating smile. It lit up the whole world. She was sort of stand offish and guarded, which I considered at the time to be normal. The next child was a boy, the one in the photo. His name was Jeffrey. He was eight years old. He was very handsome and was trying really hard to hate us, but underneath his frown was a grin just trying to peek out. Then there was six year old Joshua. He didn't say much, just studied us. He didn't look quite like the other kids. A little more buff, with charming facial features. After that there was little three year old James who just smiled and smiled and talked a mile a minute. His eyes danced in circles of naughtiness and he made you want to hold him (which I already was). Finally, the youngest was three year old Timara. Now she was a little "spit fire" if I ever saw one. Tough as nails, with big almond eyes, and a "live wire" personality. She wanted to be down and running and as fast as she could, she was.
And we were in love. I don't think in my life I have ever been so sure and unsure of a situation in my life. I knew I could parent these kids. I just didn't know how. I knew I loved these kids. I just didn't know if it would be enough. I was sure I could handle the little ones, but Jeffrey and Tierney scared the stink out of me. They were guarded, and scared, and they'd been hurt- really hurt on the inside. The kind of hurt that only God can heal. But when I looked at them, at those small, unloved, lovable faces- I knew I had to try. Tim knew it too. And so that night as Tim and I lay in the hotel room with Tierney (she loved her visit with us so much that she'd asked to stay the night), we made the decision to parent these kids.
We met them in September and by November, they were sleeping their own beds, with their own hand stitched blankets, in their own rooms, with their own clothes, in their own house. There was a fifteen passenger van parked in our driveway. There were dirty clothes everyday. There was homework. There was big huge meals. But...there was nonstop laughter. Nonstop naughtiness. There was an endless string of toys. There was happiness. More joy and happiness then I thought I could ever know. Did I miss that little baby boy in the Marshal Islands whom was later adopted and named Oliver? Yes, sometimes I did. But the reality of my new dream never ever gave me pause to regret the beautiful spirited children who called me "Momma".
And today as I reflect on those first years, I cannot help but smile that we survived, those children and us, but we did, and we will, because that's what families do....
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Remembering 9/11 from a Momma's Perspective...
I remember being in the living room, just finishing seeing my children off to school, when my neighbor came rushing through the door begging for me to turn on my television. She was crying and overwhelmingly concerned. I immediately obeyed and what I saw in that first instance changed my life forever. The picture of the second plane hitting the twin towers just as it was happening. And my heart sank.
Why am I writing about this? Why now after eleven years does it matter to speak out? How could it possibly affect the lives of our family and the children herein? Because it was the day that I lost my innocent belief that our nation was untouchable and that my children were inherently safe in this nation by citizenship alone. Before 9/11, I automatically believed that the land of the United States was untouchable and unreachable for any foreign nation to cause catastrophic events that would leave us awestruck and dumbfounded and unaware. That day as I watched and prayed for the people of these tragedies, a part of my own childlike innocence died. I grew up. There became another facet to my mothering that I had never considered before: Foreign Terrorism. And while I knew that terrorism existed elsewhere in the world, it never even occurred to me that my children could be unsafe merely by being in a public place at the wrong time. My heart sank as I realized that my children could be in danger right in there school. What if some terrorist decided to shoot or bomb every school in the United States. Does that seem unfeasible? I do not know, but I know that to a young mother many miles away from "Ground Zero", that thought more than crossed my mind.
I remember calling Tim that morning and us discussing going and getting our kids out of school. I remember finally deciding to let them stay, but in the pit of my stomach being nervous and scared and sort of out of control. I think that I felt helpless. Helpless to protect my children from a now unsafe nation and helpless not to be a part of the people around our nation who were actually living in that terrible day.
I remember thinking of the children's biological family and if this had affected them as they came from New York city. I remember saying good-bye to my sister that day on the phone, and never really knowing if telling her I loved her would be the last time I said it. I felt afraid. An innocence lost.
But as that day, weeks, months, and now years have unfolded, I now feel empowered as a mother and empowered to be a part of a nation that has pulled itself up by the boot straps and realized that we are infallible and we do need to protect what is ours. As a mother, I train my children to be a little afraid. I train them to be more knowledgeable of their surroundings and what to do in an emergency. But mostly, when I send them out into the world, I hug them a little tighter, give them a bigger smooch, and pray a little longer for their safety so that if a tragic event takes place in our lives, they will always know that they are loved. Sometimes when innocence is lost...knowledge is gained.
Why am I writing about this? Why now after eleven years does it matter to speak out? How could it possibly affect the lives of our family and the children herein? Because it was the day that I lost my innocent belief that our nation was untouchable and that my children were inherently safe in this nation by citizenship alone. Before 9/11, I automatically believed that the land of the United States was untouchable and unreachable for any foreign nation to cause catastrophic events that would leave us awestruck and dumbfounded and unaware. That day as I watched and prayed for the people of these tragedies, a part of my own childlike innocence died. I grew up. There became another facet to my mothering that I had never considered before: Foreign Terrorism. And while I knew that terrorism existed elsewhere in the world, it never even occurred to me that my children could be unsafe merely by being in a public place at the wrong time. My heart sank as I realized that my children could be in danger right in there school. What if some terrorist decided to shoot or bomb every school in the United States. Does that seem unfeasible? I do not know, but I know that to a young mother many miles away from "Ground Zero", that thought more than crossed my mind.
I remember calling Tim that morning and us discussing going and getting our kids out of school. I remember finally deciding to let them stay, but in the pit of my stomach being nervous and scared and sort of out of control. I think that I felt helpless. Helpless to protect my children from a now unsafe nation and helpless not to be a part of the people around our nation who were actually living in that terrible day.
I remember thinking of the children's biological family and if this had affected them as they came from New York city. I remember saying good-bye to my sister that day on the phone, and never really knowing if telling her I loved her would be the last time I said it. I felt afraid. An innocence lost.
But as that day, weeks, months, and now years have unfolded, I now feel empowered as a mother and empowered to be a part of a nation that has pulled itself up by the boot straps and realized that we are infallible and we do need to protect what is ours. As a mother, I train my children to be a little afraid. I train them to be more knowledgeable of their surroundings and what to do in an emergency. But mostly, when I send them out into the world, I hug them a little tighter, give them a bigger smooch, and pray a little longer for their safety so that if a tragic event takes place in our lives, they will always know that they are loved. Sometimes when innocence is lost...knowledge is gained.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The Square of Unconditional Love...for the Love of Dragos
I laid on the bed all curled up in a ball. I was dying, just dying inside, and I knew I would never ever be the same. This fourth miscarriage hadn't been like the rest. It was scary, oh so scary. We had to call the ambulance and I was hemoraging. The pain was so intense that I truly thought I was losing my life. Emergency surgery was performed and I lost one of my tubes and the other one was cut and cauterized. I was left with nothing. I had lost my last chance to have Tim's child and more importantly I had lost my last child- a child I'd wanted so desperately. I just laid there and sobbed; sobbed to God, sobbed to an unfair world, and sobbed for a child's spirit whom I could feel so strongly it was making me crazy. I knew, I just knew, that Tim and I were meant to have children and I had failed to bring that dream to a reality. We had talked invitro and adoption, but it was just too soon. So medicated and exhausted, I shook heaven's gates with one of the most heartfelt prayers I had ever uttered.... "Lord, if you will give me a child, any child, I will love it....." and I laid my face into my pillow and wept in dispair.
Sometime later while watching tv, I, just by a fluke turned on the evening news. And on that newstation was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen. She had a gorgeous head of deep brown curls, ruby red lips, and the blackest almond eyes in all the world. Oh, she could be Tim's child- I remember thinking. I watched the newscast intently as they told the story of these two little orphans that were brought to the United States on a medical visa to receive treatment for various health issues. Two children? Well, I'd only seen one. Then the camera flashed on this tiny, big headed child. He was fair haired and gaunt, but he had the most happiest smile that I had ever witnessed. "He has neuorological damage, and possibly issues that will be looked at here at the hospital....they are both available for adoption...." the voices trailed off. I quickly wrote down the number to call on that adorable little girl. Adoption....could we adopt this little girl...could she be the answer to our hearts desire?
I raced to call Tim at work. I babbled and babbled. And he kept telling me to slow down and catch my breath. Could I call, could I call the first thing tomorrow and set up an appointment to meet her? Of course he said yes, he knew he had no choice. I would've called with or without him. I was on fire for this little girl. I wanted to have a child with him so badly, and she looked like him. It had to be a sign.
So, the call was made and the appointment set, but the lady on the other end of the phone said, "You know Mrs. Burd, six people have called about Julia, but none have called for Dragos. Do you think you could come and look at him?" My heart sank, no I did not want to look at him. But why not, was it because he could be retarded or was it merely because he didn't look like Tim. I quickly realized that I was mesmerized by Julia because she looked like Tim. It didn't matter to me if a child had mental problems or not. I could love and raise a special needs child. I knew I could do it without hesitation. I told her we'd come for Dragos and the lady was elated...simply elated.
And so we made the long drive to the adoption agency in Hartford. I chatted with Tim the whole way, but he was very quiet, much more so than usual. But I didn't care, in fact, I was relishing in the dreams of having a child. I was already planning and living for this little guy. I guess that after four miscarriages, my need for a child had definately outweighed my common sense.
The kind, red haired adoption agent opened the door. She spoke very friendly as if I'd known her my whole life and gave us a brief history of Dragos. He was born early, a sickly baby, put in the bottom of the orphanage to die. She had met him two years previously and when she came back, he'd actually recognized her and played a game that they had played from memory. She was just gushing with little stories and how Dragos had overcome so many obstacles....and then, she opened the door and there he was.
He was so adorable- a big thatch of stick-up straight blonde hair, an impish grin, but the smallest body on the biggest head. And laugh, and smile- well that was all he did. He couldn't walk or talk, but he burbled and babbled and scooted across the floor. Why, he didn't even care that he wasn't doing what other three year olds should do. He was just happy and so was I. I was in love.- completely and thoroughly in love. Tina, the agent, kept talking. I just sat down as this child scooted over to my lap and just cuddled and snuggled and I was sold. I brought him into my heart right then and there. Tim? Who was Tim? I never even thought of Tim. I only thought of every maternal need being fed after so many losses of so many other children.
Dragos picked up a truck and threw it at Tim and he started to laugh, "He's got guts, I'll give him that..."
I hurriedly agreed. We would attend all of his doctors appointments, and we'd get a homestudy started, and then start the paperwork, and also the finances. Hmmm...could we come up with the finances that quickly? Of course we could. And I nodded and waived good-bye and sat in Mommy heaven.
Tim and I got into the truck and I immediately started planning. I was babbling again nonstop. Didn't he just love him? Wasn't he just wonderful? Where would we put him? What would his parents think? And on and on...
"Kari...KARI Stop." Tim finally found his voice and got my attention. "Kari, slow down. Just slow down. We cannot do this. I cannot do this. I cannot adopt a special needs child. I cannot adopt a child with so many unknowns. This has to be right. It has to be right for both of us....." What are you kidding me and I began to cry...
"But I thought...I thought that we could handle this. I thought we could do this and he would be ours ...."
I reasoned.
He was somber and obviously upset. "We'll go to the doctors appointments and help them out, but that is all...I just cannot do this...." and he continued on and on.
But I didn't hear him for I was transformed back to another time. A time when I had prayed a prayer so deep that I could barely utter the words and that is when I audibly heard God say to me, "Kari, you said to me, 'Lord, if you will give me a child, any child, I will love it'.....and Kari this is your son..." I was awestruck. Simply awestruck.
And I started to cry. "No Tim, he is our son..."and I replayed what God had just laid on my heart.
And so Tim threw in the towel and that day, resolving to believe that God had spoken to me, he- we committed to our son. And we have never looked back. It was a long year of delays, sneaking him medications through contacts to keep him well, set backs with paperwork, and just unforseen idiotic holdups. But finally, finally Tim went to Moldova to get him and somewhere over London, when Dragos pooped his diaper and Tim chose to throw the whole outfit away, Tim fell in love with his son. Drying him by the hand dryer, naked in England, Tim figured if Dragos could be happy smelling like he did, then he'd be happy too. And so he held his four year old, twenty pound son and promised he'd do whatever it took to make him a success. And seven years later...
"Run, Bubby, RUN!", we all screamed as Dragos crossed the finish line in the 70 meter dash..."He beat two fat kids, he did! That's my boy..." Tim grinned. And as we looked back, the entire crowd was cheering and yelling and crying. The boy, the one left to die in the bottom of the orphanage, was talking, running, and winning the race. And the best part was he was ours...he was our son...BECAUSE GOD SAID.
Sometime later while watching tv, I, just by a fluke turned on the evening news. And on that newstation was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen. She had a gorgeous head of deep brown curls, ruby red lips, and the blackest almond eyes in all the world. Oh, she could be Tim's child- I remember thinking. I watched the newscast intently as they told the story of these two little orphans that were brought to the United States on a medical visa to receive treatment for various health issues. Two children? Well, I'd only seen one. Then the camera flashed on this tiny, big headed child. He was fair haired and gaunt, but he had the most happiest smile that I had ever witnessed. "He has neuorological damage, and possibly issues that will be looked at here at the hospital....they are both available for adoption...." the voices trailed off. I quickly wrote down the number to call on that adorable little girl. Adoption....could we adopt this little girl...could she be the answer to our hearts desire?
I raced to call Tim at work. I babbled and babbled. And he kept telling me to slow down and catch my breath. Could I call, could I call the first thing tomorrow and set up an appointment to meet her? Of course he said yes, he knew he had no choice. I would've called with or without him. I was on fire for this little girl. I wanted to have a child with him so badly, and she looked like him. It had to be a sign.
So, the call was made and the appointment set, but the lady on the other end of the phone said, "You know Mrs. Burd, six people have called about Julia, but none have called for Dragos. Do you think you could come and look at him?" My heart sank, no I did not want to look at him. But why not, was it because he could be retarded or was it merely because he didn't look like Tim. I quickly realized that I was mesmerized by Julia because she looked like Tim. It didn't matter to me if a child had mental problems or not. I could love and raise a special needs child. I knew I could do it without hesitation. I told her we'd come for Dragos and the lady was elated...simply elated.
And so we made the long drive to the adoption agency in Hartford. I chatted with Tim the whole way, but he was very quiet, much more so than usual. But I didn't care, in fact, I was relishing in the dreams of having a child. I was already planning and living for this little guy. I guess that after four miscarriages, my need for a child had definately outweighed my common sense.
The kind, red haired adoption agent opened the door. She spoke very friendly as if I'd known her my whole life and gave us a brief history of Dragos. He was born early, a sickly baby, put in the bottom of the orphanage to die. She had met him two years previously and when she came back, he'd actually recognized her and played a game that they had played from memory. She was just gushing with little stories and how Dragos had overcome so many obstacles....and then, she opened the door and there he was.
He was so adorable- a big thatch of stick-up straight blonde hair, an impish grin, but the smallest body on the biggest head. And laugh, and smile- well that was all he did. He couldn't walk or talk, but he burbled and babbled and scooted across the floor. Why, he didn't even care that he wasn't doing what other three year olds should do. He was just happy and so was I. I was in love.- completely and thoroughly in love. Tina, the agent, kept talking. I just sat down as this child scooted over to my lap and just cuddled and snuggled and I was sold. I brought him into my heart right then and there. Tim? Who was Tim? I never even thought of Tim. I only thought of every maternal need being fed after so many losses of so many other children.
Dragos picked up a truck and threw it at Tim and he started to laugh, "He's got guts, I'll give him that..."
I hurriedly agreed. We would attend all of his doctors appointments, and we'd get a homestudy started, and then start the paperwork, and also the finances. Hmmm...could we come up with the finances that quickly? Of course we could. And I nodded and waived good-bye and sat in Mommy heaven.
Tim and I got into the truck and I immediately started planning. I was babbling again nonstop. Didn't he just love him? Wasn't he just wonderful? Where would we put him? What would his parents think? And on and on...
"Kari...KARI Stop." Tim finally found his voice and got my attention. "Kari, slow down. Just slow down. We cannot do this. I cannot do this. I cannot adopt a special needs child. I cannot adopt a child with so many unknowns. This has to be right. It has to be right for both of us....." What are you kidding me and I began to cry...
"But I thought...I thought that we could handle this. I thought we could do this and he would be ours ...."
I reasoned.
He was somber and obviously upset. "We'll go to the doctors appointments and help them out, but that is all...I just cannot do this...." and he continued on and on.
But I didn't hear him for I was transformed back to another time. A time when I had prayed a prayer so deep that I could barely utter the words and that is when I audibly heard God say to me, "Kari, you said to me, 'Lord, if you will give me a child, any child, I will love it'.....and Kari this is your son..." I was awestruck. Simply awestruck.
And I started to cry. "No Tim, he is our son..."and I replayed what God had just laid on my heart.
And so Tim threw in the towel and that day, resolving to believe that God had spoken to me, he- we committed to our son. And we have never looked back. It was a long year of delays, sneaking him medications through contacts to keep him well, set backs with paperwork, and just unforseen idiotic holdups. But finally, finally Tim went to Moldova to get him and somewhere over London, when Dragos pooped his diaper and Tim chose to throw the whole outfit away, Tim fell in love with his son. Drying him by the hand dryer, naked in England, Tim figured if Dragos could be happy smelling like he did, then he'd be happy too. And so he held his four year old, twenty pound son and promised he'd do whatever it took to make him a success. And seven years later...
"Run, Bubby, RUN!", we all screamed as Dragos crossed the finish line in the 70 meter dash..."He beat two fat kids, he did! That's my boy..." Tim grinned. And as we looked back, the entire crowd was cheering and yelling and crying. The boy, the one left to die in the bottom of the orphanage, was talking, running, and winning the race. And the best part was he was ours...he was our son...BECAUSE GOD SAID.
Monday, September 3, 2012
The Squares of Children in Heaven...
When you get married and have dreams of your potential family, nothing can be more heart breaking than to have those hopes dashed for one reason or another, and unfortunately Tim and I were no different.
We wanted to add another child to our family so badly and had prayed, planned, and dreamt about it for years. But because I had previously had a tubal ligation, I had to have a tubal reversal which at the time was not an exactly easy surgery, nor was it considered highly successful. But I wanted a child with the man I loved and we were too young not to at least try. So try we did, and I underwent the surgery. Which, for all practical purposes seemed to be deemed a huge success so we were quite optimistic that in six months, we would be getting pregnant with our child.
Six months later the fertility dance began and each month was a never ending circle of meds, temperature taking, ovulating, and carefully planned romance (that soon became more of a job than an adventure). Making a baby was way tougher than I'd remember it being, and poor Tim wasn't real sure on many days if he actually wanted to make one with me since my crankiness level was reaching an all time high. The girls were getting pretty curious too since Mommy lived around the clock eating, sleeping, and dreaming baby.
And then finally, I missed my cycle...and so Tim raced through the door with the bag that held the test that could make all of our dreams come true. He quickly opened it, read the directions, and commanded me to,"get in there and pee on this stick". Since I was the "great obediant wife", I hurriedly obeyed. I nervously came from the bathroom holding the now dripping test to wait for the next couple of minutes with Tim to see whether those pink lines would appear or not. When suddenly Tim grabbed the test from me, thrust me out of the bathroom, and shut and locked the door. "Hey, what the heck are you doing?" I bellowed from my side of the door.
"I want to see it first! Then you won't be too dissappointed if there's no lines..." he yelled back.
"Bulloney," I blasted, "Let me in..." and I continued to pound on the door until it slowly opened. Tim came out with a solemn look on his face.
"We're not pregnant?" I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
He put his arms around me and whispered softly into my ear, "No, we're pregnant!"
I looked up at him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. "YAY!" I happily yelled- starting a day of celebration. We were so estatic and I know that we should have waited to celebrate, and yet, we couldn't. We had to tell everyone we knew. We were having a baby!
And so the dreams began. You know the dreams of what to name it? And what will it be? And what room will we put it in? And how will we decorate the nursery? What blanket, curtains, and clothes would I sew?Everyday he would come home and we would dream. And he'd put his hand on my tummy and lay his head on it and do all those things that pregnant Daddy's do. We were in pregnant rapture...a sort of heaven for expecting parents.
We did the blood test and it was fine. We made an appointment to see the doctor. Everything was amazing. Everything was fine.
And then, I woke up and I didn't feel right. I went to the bathroom and I was spotting. And that's when I knew- I just knew that I was losing our baby. I woke Tim up and told him, but he is an eternal optimist and said," No, it's okay. I read somewhere that it's normal to spot." He wouldn't give up. He would have this child. But I knew, in my heart of all hearts, I knew that I was losing our baby.
We went to the doctor's that day, and he confirmed that there was no heartbeat, in fact, he couldn't find the baby anywhere. He ran a blood test, checked my numbers, and they were low which confirmed that we indeed had suffered an etopic pregnancy. He said he wouldn't have to do surgery, that I would pass it and I would be fine- at least physically fine. Emotionally, now that was another matter.
We were devestated. Completely devestated. This baby had meant so much to us. All of the hopes and dreams gone. Completely gone. And so we wept. Well meaning people said things like we could have more or we could try again, but to us, we didn't want another baby, we only wanted that baby. The baby of our dreams.
That day, I sat up in the middle of the night, and wrote this poem as I wept for my beautiful unborn child whom I was so sure would have been a boy...
My Little Boy Timmy
I can see you running up to me,
throwing a ball, or climbing a tree,
crying because of your skinned up knee,
My little boy Timmy.
I can hear you laughing with your Dad,
pounding his hammer, and hitting your hand,
pretending it hurt to your "old man",
My little boy Timmy.
I can watch you swinging with your Gramps,
chewing blades of grass, or taking a nap,
dreaming of Gramma's cookie filled lap,
My little boy Timmy.
I can feel us rocking in our chair,
reading God's word, learning of His care,
running my fingers through your curly hair,
My little boy Timmy.
I can know you're looking down on me,
holding God's hand, sitting on His knee,
a few short weeks you were and always will be,
My little boy Timmy.
There would be three more beautiful, hopeful pregnancies to us, but none were to result in a child whom we could hold on this earth...each would be memories of what might have beens...and the losses were each in themselves horrendous wounds that were suffered so deeply that we just didn't think we'd ever make it through.
I think that many people do not realize that in each pregnancy, especially for people who struggle to have children, that there is a world of life, plans, hopes, and dreams that will never come true. And even if that child was never met and cuddled and loved, that child held a place in a heart that wanted to do all those things with it so desperately. Sometimes we can only have the child of our dreams in heaven, and it leaves a world of hurt to have to rock empty arms in a chair meant for memories of a child never to be here on this earth.
I Would've Called You Francis
I would've called you Francis,
when I saw your newborn face,
I'd count your fingers and your toes,
and thank God for His precious grace.
I would've called you Francis,
because that's you Grandpa's name,
There never was a finer man,
who on earth's been heaven's gain.
I would've called you Francis
when I saw your Daddy's eyes,
Each time he held his little
and kissed away her tender cries.
I would've called her Francis
as I called you in from play.
I'd watch you skipping 'cross the yard,
picking flowers along the way.
I would've called you Francis,
and it truly broke my heart,
The day you left to be with God-
our life's dreams all torn apart.
I would've called you Francis,
as I have a thousand times,
Since the day you left us, Baby Girl,
only emptiness left behind.
I would've called you Francis
and I know someday I will.
I'll take you from His loving arms,
and finally hold my Baby Girl.
In lovingmemory of Francis Suzanne Burd
who went to be with our Lord on
Saturday, December 17,1995.
written by Mommy with love.
We wanted to add another child to our family so badly and had prayed, planned, and dreamt about it for years. But because I had previously had a tubal ligation, I had to have a tubal reversal which at the time was not an exactly easy surgery, nor was it considered highly successful. But I wanted a child with the man I loved and we were too young not to at least try. So try we did, and I underwent the surgery. Which, for all practical purposes seemed to be deemed a huge success so we were quite optimistic that in six months, we would be getting pregnant with our child.
Six months later the fertility dance began and each month was a never ending circle of meds, temperature taking, ovulating, and carefully planned romance (that soon became more of a job than an adventure). Making a baby was way tougher than I'd remember it being, and poor Tim wasn't real sure on many days if he actually wanted to make one with me since my crankiness level was reaching an all time high. The girls were getting pretty curious too since Mommy lived around the clock eating, sleeping, and dreaming baby.
And then finally, I missed my cycle...and so Tim raced through the door with the bag that held the test that could make all of our dreams come true. He quickly opened it, read the directions, and commanded me to,"get in there and pee on this stick". Since I was the "great obediant wife", I hurriedly obeyed. I nervously came from the bathroom holding the now dripping test to wait for the next couple of minutes with Tim to see whether those pink lines would appear or not. When suddenly Tim grabbed the test from me, thrust me out of the bathroom, and shut and locked the door. "Hey, what the heck are you doing?" I bellowed from my side of the door.
"I want to see it first! Then you won't be too dissappointed if there's no lines..." he yelled back.
"Bulloney," I blasted, "Let me in..." and I continued to pound on the door until it slowly opened. Tim came out with a solemn look on his face.
"We're not pregnant?" I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
He put his arms around me and whispered softly into my ear, "No, we're pregnant!"
I looked up at him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. "YAY!" I happily yelled- starting a day of celebration. We were so estatic and I know that we should have waited to celebrate, and yet, we couldn't. We had to tell everyone we knew. We were having a baby!
And so the dreams began. You know the dreams of what to name it? And what will it be? And what room will we put it in? And how will we decorate the nursery? What blanket, curtains, and clothes would I sew?Everyday he would come home and we would dream. And he'd put his hand on my tummy and lay his head on it and do all those things that pregnant Daddy's do. We were in pregnant rapture...a sort of heaven for expecting parents.
We did the blood test and it was fine. We made an appointment to see the doctor. Everything was amazing. Everything was fine.
And then, I woke up and I didn't feel right. I went to the bathroom and I was spotting. And that's when I knew- I just knew that I was losing our baby. I woke Tim up and told him, but he is an eternal optimist and said," No, it's okay. I read somewhere that it's normal to spot." He wouldn't give up. He would have this child. But I knew, in my heart of all hearts, I knew that I was losing our baby.
We went to the doctor's that day, and he confirmed that there was no heartbeat, in fact, he couldn't find the baby anywhere. He ran a blood test, checked my numbers, and they were low which confirmed that we indeed had suffered an etopic pregnancy. He said he wouldn't have to do surgery, that I would pass it and I would be fine- at least physically fine. Emotionally, now that was another matter.
We were devestated. Completely devestated. This baby had meant so much to us. All of the hopes and dreams gone. Completely gone. And so we wept. Well meaning people said things like we could have more or we could try again, but to us, we didn't want another baby, we only wanted that baby. The baby of our dreams.
That day, I sat up in the middle of the night, and wrote this poem as I wept for my beautiful unborn child whom I was so sure would have been a boy...
My Little Boy Timmy
I can see you running up to me,
throwing a ball, or climbing a tree,
crying because of your skinned up knee,
My little boy Timmy.
I can hear you laughing with your Dad,
pounding his hammer, and hitting your hand,
pretending it hurt to your "old man",
My little boy Timmy.
I can watch you swinging with your Gramps,
chewing blades of grass, or taking a nap,
dreaming of Gramma's cookie filled lap,
My little boy Timmy.
I can feel us rocking in our chair,
reading God's word, learning of His care,
running my fingers through your curly hair,
My little boy Timmy.
I can know you're looking down on me,
holding God's hand, sitting on His knee,
a few short weeks you were and always will be,
My little boy Timmy.
There would be three more beautiful, hopeful pregnancies to us, but none were to result in a child whom we could hold on this earth...each would be memories of what might have beens...and the losses were each in themselves horrendous wounds that were suffered so deeply that we just didn't think we'd ever make it through.
I think that many people do not realize that in each pregnancy, especially for people who struggle to have children, that there is a world of life, plans, hopes, and dreams that will never come true. And even if that child was never met and cuddled and loved, that child held a place in a heart that wanted to do all those things with it so desperately. Sometimes we can only have the child of our dreams in heaven, and it leaves a world of hurt to have to rock empty arms in a chair meant for memories of a child never to be here on this earth.
I Would've Called You Francis
I would've called you Francis,
when I saw your newborn face,
I'd count your fingers and your toes,
and thank God for His precious grace.
I would've called you Francis,
because that's you Grandpa's name,
There never was a finer man,
who on earth's been heaven's gain.
I would've called you Francis
when I saw your Daddy's eyes,
Each time he held his little
and kissed away her tender cries.
I would've called her Francis
as I called you in from play.
I'd watch you skipping 'cross the yard,
picking flowers along the way.
I would've called you Francis,
and it truly broke my heart,
The day you left to be with God-
our life's dreams all torn apart.
I would've called you Francis,
as I have a thousand times,
Since the day you left us, Baby Girl,
only emptiness left behind.
I would've called you Francis
and I know someday I will.
I'll take you from His loving arms,
and finally hold my Baby Girl.
In lovingmemory of Francis Suzanne Burd
who went to be with our Lord on
Saturday, December 17,1995.
written by Mommy with love.
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