Diets and donuts

After a little plateau, my diet is going pretty well. I'm down 22 pounds and I'm working out more than ever. The working out part is HIGHLY unlike me, so I'm very surprised by myself. I think I went about 15 years without stepping foot in a gym. Sometimes I'm really not sure what has come over me, but then I remember that it's all in the name of being able to eat more. Ultimately, it's always about food.

Speaking of food, we have an exciting event coming up in our family - a party to celebrate my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. Isn't that awesome? Forty years. My sisters and I are throwing them a dessert party next week and there will be about a dozen amazing, delectable, carefully-selected-from-Pinterest desserts. And I won't be having any. Well, maybe one.

I'll be making my mother's famous chocolate chip cookies (dipped in chocolate, because, why not?), individual pineapple upside down cakes, and donuts, among other things.

I have to practice, of course, so I started today by making these puppies...

I know the calories. 228. Is it bad if I use ALL 1200 of my calories on desserts that day??

I used this recipe and, as usual, I had a lot of help making them. Clara loves to bake. And cook. But, most especially, play in the sink.

I always let her help in the kitchen in the name of education. I figure if I don't work with her on anything else that day, at least she learned something through baking. And then there's less guilt for that episode of Sophia the First she watched that morning.

We had another helper, too.

And when he woke up from his nap, Luke was happy to help with the eating. Doing his part to keep his mommy on her diet.

I think he was actually sleep-eating, and woke up at the end wondering what had hit him.

 Clara, meanwhile, had three. 

 

I had half of one. And it was amazing. 

Next up - my own creation that I've yet to actually try out - German chocolate cake moon pies. I found a never-been-used moon pie maker at Goodwill (my new obsession) for $5! 

And how do I resist eating them all, you may wonder? Ummm.... the grace of God?? I really don't know. All I know is that I have incredible will power when I diet. And for that I am very grateful.

It also doesn't hurt that I have a lot of takers. Nothing lasts too long around here.

When the questions begin

The other day I was talking with Clara about where babies come from (you know...tummies), and we began discussing, as we do at times, how she was adopted.
 

She has all the answers down - that Luke came from mommy's tummy, but that she came from another mommy's tummy. She likes to name everyone in her life who is adopted (her friend E, his brother and sister, her uncle Joe, Essie). I even once overheard her telling her Nana how she was really, really small when she was born (we've told her about being a preemie and her hospital stay).

We talk openly about adoption when it comes up and don't shy away from age-appropriate discussions.

But this time, she didn't just accept that she came from another mommy's tummy. Which shouldn't surprise me, with how grown-up she has become.

"What's her name?" she asked.

My heart sank.

After my mind did momentary cartwheels, I told her that we don't know her name but that we can call her Tummy Mommy (first thing I could think of, which I must have read on other blogs. Why wasn't I prepared for this?).

"No, I don't want to call her that," she said.

My heart sank again. She can see right through me, I thought.

"I want to call her Big Tummy Mommy!"

Phew. She's still three-years-old and was only being silly. Or, actually, she was probably being literal. After all, a pregnant tummy is big.

Clara wasn't finished though. As she climbed up to cuddle in the chair with me, her sweet little-kid voice asked a very big-kid question: "Can I meet her some day?"

I honestly can't even tell you what I answered. I probably said something along the lines of "maybe..." or "I don't know..." And she was fine with whatever it was. Like I said, she's still three.

But some day she won't be three and she won't be fine with Tummy Mommy's and I-don't-know's. She'll want more information than I'll probably be able to provide her. At least, not until she's of an age when she can legally search for it herself.

Of course, it's not the searching and the wondering I have a problem with; it's my little girl's heart. We don't want our kids to ever suffer, you know? As parents, we tear up over shots and skinned knees and God forbid someone doesn't want to play with them on the playground. You might as well rip my heart right out and stomp on it. So I sort of dread the day when she, or Essie, will want more details than I have to give, or will want to really know her birth parents, and will be sad.

Realistically, I know all of my children will experience suffering in their lives. But a mom can hope to minimize that, right? So I tell myself I'll do my best to comfort them and use it as an opportunity to teach them about the value in suffering and turning to God. I'll be able to put my years of infertility to good use - not that I mastered suffering during that time, but I definitely learned what doesn't work (i.e.  fighting it with every fiber of my being despite it being something I have zero control over, just in case you're curious).

I absolutely love that we have two daughters whose stories include adoption, and I hope they will be a support to each other when emotions may become confusing in the future. One of the closest people to them in their lives will share a part of their story and will understand, at least on some level, what they may be feeling.

But it's also the differences that worry me. We know so much about Essie's amazing birth family, so much I'm excited to share with her one day. We were blessed with the opportunity to meet her beautiful birth mother and I treasure those moments we had with her. We know where she gets her blue eyes, and her dark, curly hair.

But we know next to nothing about Clara's birth family, and it tears me up inside for her. I can just picture, years from now, her sad pre-teen face, not understanding why I can't fill in more of the blanks.

Although it hasn't even yet happened, I can't do anything to change that it may. But what I can do is teach all of my children that everyone's story is different and special. That everyone has hardships. And that life isn't fair.

And that, also, life is wonderful and beautiful and a gift from God that is to be cherished and relished.

It may not help her avoid the sadness, but I can only hope it helps it to pass more quickly.

I also know how one processes something like this depends a lot on their individual personality. Being adopted could be the defining moment of her life, or it could be just one of many things that makes her Clara, depending on her temperament. I hope I can do whatever I can to help it be the latter, for her own sake. It is important, don't get me wrong. But I hope with any negativity it may one day bring, that she can see beauty in it too. That it can teach her, firsthand, that God can make all things new.

For now, I will try to preserve the carefree, silly nature of childhood for as long as possible.

I will take her questions as they come and try to do my best as her mama. I may not have been her Tummy Mommy, but I was put on earth to protect her, care for her, and love her. And that I can handle.

In which I gush

Brace yourself... there are several photos ahead of Essie in a tutu.

(Hopefully I didn't lose too many of you right there. I know moms gushing over their infants always makes for riveting blog posts).

Essie is now a glorious seven months old (and, yes, she's still of that age where we mark the monthly birthday with a backyard photo shoot).

I absolutely love this age, but seven just sounds so old. More than half-way to a year. She'll be walking and talking and keeping up with her crazy siblings before we know it.

Speaking of talking, she started saying "bababa" and "mamama" and "dadada" - in that order - last weekend. Sweet girl was sick with double ear infections and she chose that time to start talking. Why not? she says. She likes a challenge.

And speaking of her crazy siblings, she adores them. ADORES them. I need to make a video of her laughing at them because it's ridiculously adorable. She can be crying and then spot Clara or Luke and immediately light up. She will then laugh her little butt off over whatever silly thing they are doing. You know, like throwing themselves into the wall, or crossing their eyes.

I hate sounding all braggy about my kids, but I feel like adoption affords me a little leeway when it comes to that, since I a) can't take credit for their looks, and b) can't take credit for much of anything the first year. So here goes: Essie is the most amazing baby ever. She is pure sweetness, happiness, cuteness, cuddliness, and she smells good too. She sleeps, she hardly ever fusses and she's just easy. Not that difficult babies are any less loveable (Luke, I'm looking at you). They are their own rewarding challenge. And it's not like Essie never cries (she actually is having a hard time falling asleep tonight, go figure!). There's just this something special about her that makes my heart swell up every time I look at her.

I know us moms always say it, but I really can't imagine life without her. I thank God every day for factoring us into the story of her life. What an incredible blessing. It just blows me away.

Happy seven months, sweet girl. Seriously, how am I supposed to handle that cuteness?

The best moments

It's no secret I like to take pictures. I take hundreds each week, and that number would be much higher if my children actually liked having their photo taken. 

I love photography, but it's more than that. I like capturing moments, whether candid or posed, whether I'm behind the camera or someone else is. If everyone's dressed up, I want to have permanent proof. If we're going to the beach, we need to remember the day with a picture. If it's a random Tuesday and the mood strikes me, I want to never forget how my daughter smiled when she was six months old. I like freezing moments in time, especially (only?) happy moments.

Then the other day Ryan saw a tweet from a Sports Illustrated writer asking if any of his 85,000 followers had a photo of the single best moment of their life. It was something the writer was thinking about after watching tennis player Andy Murray win Wimbledon, and having what was most likely one of the happiest moments of his life photographed by thousands.

Ryan actually does have a photograph of the happiest moment of his life, so he responded to the tweet with this...

It's, understandably, one of my favorite photos ever. And not just because I'm holding my daughter, my very first child, for the very first time. It's because of the look on Ryan's face. Pure love. But I also know it's more than that. I might be wrong (we've never discussed what he was actually thinking here) but I'm guessing it was everything wrapped into one - seeing his daughter, but also seeing his wife holding their daughter after years and years of infertility heartache. I feel like I see him finally exhaling in this photo, thinking about how God was leading us to this moment with Clara all along and we finally made it.

The writer ended up re-tweeting Ryan's tweet, along with many, many others. Then today, our photo was included in a story on The Atlantic's website about the tweets of people's happiest moments.

I loved the article (make sure to read it if you get a chance). It made me realize that, as someone who loves capturing moments with photographs, I had actually never thought much about the moments in my life that had been captured.

We all have those moments, and often a few tie for the top honor. I think back on them from time to time, but I don't have the photos prominently displayed (with the exception of the one Ryan tweeted above; it's been on our fridge since we first arrived home from Louisiana and found that my sister-in-law had already mailed it to us). What a gift they are, though. And with all the time many of us spend feeling down, sad, frustrated, overwhelmed, why not look back on those moments more often?

So it got me thinking about what are some of the other happiest moments of my life. And, it turns out, I have photos of them all.

Like this one...

And this one...

And this...

And while it's not right up there with the birth of my children, this one still captured one of the most joyful nights of my life (it's Ryan and me receiving a standing ovation from family, friends and strangers, after the premier of our documentary about Eucharistic Adoration)...

These aren't all the best pictures. But even that makes sense - they're spontaneous and candid and the movement that comes with happiness often makes for blurry shots anyway.

I'm blessed to have these photos. And, more importantly, to have had the joyful experiences that they captured.

Been a while

I'm actually on the computer. It's a Fourth of July miracle! 

I've been a little busy lately. I haven't mentioned it yet on here, but I have a job. I've been babysitting a little boy since December and I have him three to four days a week. It's easier than it sounds, though, because it's only during nap time.

Seriously, if I ever doubt God's providence, I just need to remind myself of this. He literally placed this opportunity in my lap right before we found out about Essie. It helps pay for our adoption loan and is DURING NAP TIME, people. I can just picture Him up there, working out all the details. "She won't be able to handle it," says my guardian angel. "Well, then, we'll make it only during nap time," says God.

Luke is the only child that actually sleeps, but we cannot underestimate how much harder it would be if he was awake. Lord have mercy.

*******************

We spent a week up north at my parents' house a couple weeks ago. I look forward for months to every visit, and now so do my kids. We count down the days.

We had a great time, of course, and I have to share a few pics. Including this awesomeness...

We try to take one every year and the one from two years ago just may have been printed onto a fleece blanket for my mother, courtesy of yours truly. 

For those of you who read this post, here are two of my kids in front of my grandparents' old house.

We celebrated Father's Day there, and I just happened to take one of my favorite shots ever of the best daddy around...

There was lots of cousin time, which makes it VERY hard to leave.

 And this girl turned SIX MONTHS OLD while we were there. It's just not possible.

Then, less than a week after we left, tragedy struck my hometown.

A flood ravaged the downtown, destroying homes, business and even killing one resident.

This was taken from a road that leads to my parents' house. For those familiar with it, this is SHOCKING.

My parents live on a hill so thank God their home was okay, but my dad's law office was flooded. And cleaning out a flooded, mud-filled basement was a HUGE undertaking. Not to mention he lost all of the old files he stores down there.

Of course it happened during one of four months a year that TV anchors cannot take a single day off (sweeps), and it killed us that we couldn't be there to help. Soooo many people came to his rescue though.

Just some of the volunteers who helped my dad (he is kneeling, all the way to the left)

Please pray for the people of Fort Plain, New York, if you get a chance. They are still cleaning up and many people have lost EVERYTHING. And this is a town where a lot of the people don't have much to begin with. It's heartbreaking.

*******************

Switching gears to a much less important topic, but who knows when I'll get back on here so include it I must.

I started a diet six weeks ago.

It was agonizing at first, but I am convinced you can train yourself to make just about any change if you give it two weeks. It actually, surprisingly, took much less than that before I was on the calorie-counting band-wagon.

And if you know me, that is HUGE. I have always shielded my eyes when reading menus at those restaurants who annoyingly post their calories on the menu, peering between my fingers, hoping not to read any numbers. 

But...ugh...I am now one of those people who actually want to see those darn calories up there.

I have lost 14 pounds so far. It works for me because I am crazy obsessed with not going over my allotted calorie amount. I have major accountability with myself for some weird reason. Always have, once I decide to. Not to mention, I keep track on an app on my phone and I love being on my phone, so this is just something additional to check. And it's guilt-free phone use when it's for your health, right?

So why am I dieting? Well, it all started back in May at the gym - where we'd been going two to three times a week since August, believe it or not - when I admitted to myself that I had been faking it. I was walking on the treadmill but not getting anywhere - literally. I wasn't even sweating. I had to know I was wasting my time, but...I was going to the gym! That was major in and of itself! Right??

But, it turns out, stepping foot in the gym, even stepping on the machines and working out for an hour each time, doesn't cause weight loss. You have to actually try hard and push yourself and, yes, sweat.

So, after my "work-out," I stepped on the dreaded gym scale that I had successfully avoided for eight months. You know that number that you prepare yourself for? The one that's so high that you think you can't possibly weigh that much, but you prepare yourself for nonetheless? I weighed more than that. By almost ten pounds.

In fact, I weighed exactly what I weighed when I checked into the hospital to give birth to Luke. And, no, this wasn't baby weight. I had already lost that a long time ago. There was no excuse for this, other than birthdays, holidays, cross-country road trips, and one medication that does cause hunger.

That was that. I downloaded the stupid app on our drive home and never looked back. Come to find out, I was eating a ridiculous amount of calories. The app, after taking into account my weight, work out routine, and activity level, told me it was giving me 1200 calories to consume per day. I feel like I'm on The Biggest Loser. Salads, vegetables, fruit, chicken. Ugh. But I'm lucky because I really conform quickly to a diet if I am on board. And I was, right from the start. I needed my clothes to fit again.

I wear a lot of sweats. I don't often leave the house. But up until recently, when I did have to go somewhere, I would be miserable due to too-tight clothing. MISERABLE. So a diet was a necessity because there was no way I was buying bigger sizes. I already did that in January. And I really, really wanted to stop having to unbutton my pants every time I sat down. Ya, it was that bad.

So combined with eating barely anything, I also committed to working out at least five days a week. And really working out. I discovered recently that actually putting forth an effort will lead you to sweat. Go figure! Makes me wonder what else I could have done with all those hours spent in the gym this past year.

Not surprisingly, the exercise and the eating less became easier every day. The intense hunger was gone after the first week. And I began craving the gym because it meant more food I could eat. And now, because I likes ta eat, I wind up working out six or seven days a week.

Now my clothes are much more comfortable and I shudder to think how tight they used to be if a 14 pound loss makes them finally fit.

Right now all I want to do is have a big piece of pizza. And a turkey sub with lots of mayo. And a big bowl of ice cream with a piece of chocolate fudge cake (and don't let them lie to you - I definitely know of many foods that taste better than skinny feels). But I have actually eaten those things on occasion (okay, maybe not the chocolate cake) because I've learned I just need to burn more calories that day. I will do anything for food.

*******************

My little night owl beckons, so off I go (same old story - Luke still doesn't sleep). But I will leave you with a shot of my three from today. They make my heart swell.

A moment of weakness

Sometimes I still can't believe I have three kids. I begged God for sooooo many years for just one. Just one! I would have done anything for just one. And then he blessed us in ways unimaginable. We have been able to experience adoption (twice!) and that always illusive positive pregnancy test. We've traveled the country to meet our sweet girls, lived through a pregnancy and birth, watched a 30-week baby grow into a healthy and advanced little girl, and had the amazing experience of meeting a birth mom and family.

I should never ask God for anything else, right? But the problem is that Essie is just so incredible - sleeping through the night, astonishingly good-natured, easy as can be. She's the kind of baby that makes you want more. Immediately.

And so, a couple weeks ago - probably when I was ovulating and hormones were exaggerating that feeling of really, really wanting a baby when my baby isn't even six months old - I really wanted more.

We were wrapping up our third and final post-placement visit to finalize Essie's adoption when I told our social worker that maybe we'd work with her again when we adopt in the future. That's when Ryan remarked that we won't be doing that for a very long time. But, somehow, I heard that as "we will never, ever, ever adopt again. Ever. Ever."

And that's when that old, familiar desire to control my family size started bubbling up in me. Someone's telling me I can't do something? This might be my last baby? Ahhhh!

"What do you mean you want another baby?"

Understandably, Ryan was concerned about finances. I get it, and I don't blame him. It's a fact that we can't afford another adoption right now and probably won't be able to for a while. But sometimes it can frustrate me that finances must be considered when we are deciding to adopt. If I happened to wind up pregnant we wouldn't contemplate whether we could afford it. We'd just be planning for Baby #4. And, of course, the cost of prenatal care and delivery after insurance is nothing compared to the cost of adoption.


So, in my weakness, I sort of fumed about it for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Did it matter that money seemed to drop from Heaven for our two previous adoptions? No. Or that I have been pregnant before and have a two-year-old to show for it? Uh-uh. I just focused on the fact that I hoped to have more than three children and an off-handed remark my husband made to our social worker suggested we may not (never mind that he meant nothing of the sort).

As I always do in times of stress, I headed outside to take some photos of my kids in our front yard. But nothing was going right with that either. It was sweltering outside, Essie wouldn't look in my direction and I grew frustrated. That's when, in my completely self-absorbed state, I said, "God, can you just help me out here?" I was saying it, in that moment, about my little model, but what I really meant was, "God, I'm frustrated today. Can you give me a sign that everything is okay?"

As I said those words to myself - which were technically a prayer, in the sense that I was talking to God, but was actually more just me being hot and annoyed - I glanced down and immediately saw a four-leaf clover. It was huge and my eyes landed directly on it. It had probably been twenty-five years since I'd thought much at all about four-leaf clovers, but I immediately remembered looking for them as a child and the excitement I would have had at finding one. And while I don't place some magical stock in them, I do believe God can use anything to speak to us. Especially something He created.

So I took it as an answer to my prayer.

And then I immediately felt like a complete jerk. Did I really just reach out to God because I couldn't get the shot I wanted? Have I really been sad today because we may "only" have three children? 

It's humbling to realize that God is with you even when your problems aren't as big as some others. And that He can reach out and touch you, with a feeling, through the words of others, or even with a four-leaf clover. 

Don't get me wrong, I do not give much thought at all to secondary infertility or wanting more children. But I had a weak moment that day and I think that's normal. I talked about it with Ryan and he was very direct to me about it, in a way he wouldn't have been during primary infertility. But I needed it. He reminded me how God has blessed us SO much that it's crazy. He has given us not one, not two, but THREE beautiful babies. When everything seemed bleak and that we may never be parents, we found out about a baby girl and money literally came from out of nowhere allowing us to adopt. I conceived Luke when I was on no medication and had never been pregnant before or since. We found out about Essie when we hadn't even begun thinking about adopting again, and everything worked out just exactly like it needed to for us to bring her home. We have three little miracles under our roof.

God has provided time and time and time again. During our years of infertility, we never, ever thought we'd have three children at this point. But we do. Every time we thought it couldn't happen, it did.

And how terrible is it that I haven't learned this lesson by now? I get so worked up when my kids make the same mistake over and over, and they are only toddlers! I'm an adult, I attend Mass, I call myself a Catholic, yet I somehow cannot seem to learn the lesson that God provides, even after He has given me incredible experiences that should have solidified the concept for me forever.

There is absolutely no reason for us to not trust God. And that doesn't mean we'll definitely have another baby. But it means we have living proof that God has our best interest in mind and will always provide. I wash their faces and clean up their messes every single day.

So, the next time I'm ovulating and feeling the intense desire to grow our family, I have decided to focus on my sweet Luke, who has been in the habit of going to bed around 1 a.m. lately. He reminds me that not all children are as easy as Essie and maybe three is just fine for now.

My little anchors

Right up there on my list of things I'm most thankful for in life is that we get to eat dinner together as a family every night. Ryan works the late afternoon/evening shift but has it worked out so that he can come home for a quick dinner break.

And while I appreciate the whole eating together around the kitchen table part, that's not the only reason I'm thankful. The fact that Ryan's there to help me with bed time (i.e. do everything while I cuddle the baby) has a LOT to do with it.

A couple times a year, though, we break from our routine, and I load the kids in the van, hit a drive thru, and we visit daddy at work.

I decided yesterday was going to be one of those days after realizing Essie had never been to the station (good old TV news doesn't take a holiday, so Memorial Day is always a regular work day around here).

Every time we visit, I like to take a picture of the kids (and sometimes us) on the set. Yes, my husband does this every day and I even did it for a few years, but now that we have kids, sitting them up there for a few photos never gets old. Who doesn't love mini news anchors?

Here was our first one, taken just a few weeks after Clara came home...

Clara and I both got bigger

And one from 2011...

They are BABIES!

And then last night... I think Essie kind of liked the bright lights and cameras. Then again, this baby is happy anywhere.

The funny thing is Clara and Luke have great memories, but for some reason they act like every time they visit the studio it's the first time they've been there. They were beyond excited yesterday, running around, yelling, "cool!", and touching the anchor desk with one finger like they were getting away with something.

And, of course, there's always fun with the green screen...

Glued to her image on the monitor

Luke got to practice doing the weather with daddy...

There's a warm front moving in from the west...

And you know what's coming next with that green shirt...

That girl is just smitten with herself

Floating Lukie! 

Essie got a chance to look over her scripts before the newscast...

Soon you'll see big bows on all the female anchors

 

Of course, all three had to sit for a shot at the desk. I think these kids may have a future in broadcasting.

Here's the same shot, pre-editing. Because I'm tricky like that...

Thank goodness for Photoshop

And the fun doesn't stop with the studio. The newsroom became their playground for a little while because, after all, what's not fun about rows of cubicles?

The adventures of Luke

Of course, their fun was had at the expense of bed-time help for me. And it was a very late night. But I'm a sucker for those anchor desk shots so we'll probably do it all over again on Labor Day.