DIY Costumes

I love this time of year. It's not Halloween itself, or all things scary, or even pumpkin lattes.

It's costume-making.

Oh, how I love it. I like everything about it. I like asking the kids what they want to be, which is always followed by disappointment when it's not what I envisioned, which quickly turns into my acceptance of the challenge (this year it was two ninja turtles and one Cinderella).

I like plotting out my plan for the craft store; just thinking about going gets me excited. Then I get to actually visit the craft store... this year - all by myself! I didn't even mind that I lost cell service and all access to lists and images of their characters. I was still on a high. Oh my goodness, walking around JoAnn's, shopping for costume fabric and various sundries is my happy place.

I love tackling the costumes - with no real plan to speak of. I don't use patterns; I make it up as I go. This is apparently how my mind works best. I thrive on figuring it out, which isn't always pretty.

I love finishing and presenting the costume to the child (or, this year, trying it on them every two minutes while they whined about the pins sticking out of it - kids these days!).

And, perhaps my favorite part? Seeing them wear them year 'round. At least when it's a costume I haven't deemed worthy of preserving in the attic and then end up throwing out when we move.

Now what you may not understand, is how perplexing all of this is. I am not someone who has ten craft projects going at all times. I don't need to be busy. Some days, I am so fatigued that it takes all my effort just to make everyone three meals.

But thanks to the magic of Autumn, I come alive in October. And if I'm lucky, it carries through to December and I bang out three birthdays that delight my kids.

Then I'm done. Until next October.

This year, Clara wanted to be Cinderella. Not Elsa or Anna, like every other four-year-old in America. She's a Cinderella girl. In the name of creativity, I tried very hard to convince her to be Cinderella "before the ball." Original, adorable, easy to throw together with some beige and brown fabric.

My sweet girl eventually even agreed to it, but I knew her heart wasn't in it. So I let her have her first choice, and tackled a ball gown.

I ordered the gloves, headband, choker (totally could have made that, but it was part of a package deal with the headband), and the pettiskirt she's wearing underneath. But the dress is all me. Who do I think I am making a dress? Well, clearly someone who doesn't know fabric very well. Because the darker blue material on her chest stains when it comes in contact with anything, even water. PERFECT fabric for a child.

Also, if you see her in person and look closely, you'll see green sharpie lines on her skirt from where I thought I was going to cut. Classy.

Aaaaand I left not one - but TWO - threaded needles attached to the dress for a while. I swear I just could NOT figure out where I put them!

And then I have my ninja turtles.

Luke was always going to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. And the costume was pretty easy to make (notice Essie's signature backwards jammies).

I even had a helper. Luke had some very specific plans for how he wanted his costume to look (he definitely takes after his mother). The "R" on the belt was his demand idea.

If it were up to Luke, our entire family would be dressing up as all the turtles and their instructor guy. That was not to be, but he did get a Leonardo to go along with his Raphael.

As soon as Luke settled on a ninja turtle, I knew Essie would be the same. The only way my wild child would agree to dress up in something would be if it was the same as her brother.

The hand she's holding here, at the neighborhood Halloween parade last Saturday? Not her father. No, this would be a complete stranger. Don't worry, we were close by, although she sure didn't care.

They'll put them on again tomorrow, of course, for the big day (although I'm kicking myself for telling them that last weekend wasn't, actually, Halloween). Our plan is to visit the embassies, many of which are right out our doorstep, and who apparently open their doors to trick-or-treaters.

Hopefully these three don't cause an international incident.

Adventures in the city

I had big plans to document our little two-month adventure living in a high-rise apartment in the city, and then I remembered I am a combination of busy and lazy and that never ends well. But I have taken pictures with every intention of sharing them here, and we do have a little over a month left until we head out to the burbs, so there's still time. I'm going to get caught up tonight and then hopefully I can share quick little stories here and there in the days ahead.

Or I could post again sometime in 2015. It could honestly go either way.

I was also about to transfer about a gazillion iphone photos from my phone to my laptop to share with you all, and then I remembered that lazy thing. I also remembered they're already up on my instagram. No need to expend any extra time and energy doubling up on social media sharing. So check it out if you want to see our daily life in the District.

And that means you're stuck with the few images I've taken on my big camera. Like this one...

That's our hotel-like bedroom (but with our comforter). Seriously people, I could get used to this bedroom furniture thing. There's a dresser and two night stands!!! I feel so grown up here.

It is like a hotel. It is completely furnished, down to the towels and linens. Or are towels actually linens? I don't know, but you get the picture. There was toilet paper and dish soap and little shampoos and even tooth paste when we got here. There are plates and utensils and pots and pans. Although I did have to buy a whisk today. They aren't perfect.

The kids love it here. They enjoy looking in the windows of the building across the street (the "worker building," according to Luke) and run to the windows every time they hear a siren below. They get to ride in an elevator every day (who am I kidding... I never leave the house/apartment every day) and fight over who gets to the push the buttons. It's so cute.

Although they are slowly starting to become less than enthused about all the walking we do. For Ryan and me, the fact that everything is walkable is the best part. We're all about being city dwellers, walking to Mass, to dinner, to the Whole Foods (don't be fooled - it's our closest grocery store so we just make quick runs there while throwing our money away; and they have amazing apple fritters). But our double stroller only seats two and the odd man out (usually Clara, since she's my best walker), grows weary very quickly.

Like the day we walked to the White House.

It was hot, and five city blocks is longer than you think, for a kid. And they might have thought the park in front of Pennsylvania Avenue was going to have a playground. Which it did not.

But they were excited to see the much-talked-about president's home. Although Luke was perplexed as to why there needed to be two fences between us and it. I told him it was to keep the president safe, which he did not easily accept. What did he need to be kept safe from? Later on he and Clara together decided it was lions and tigers.

One place they're always up for walking to is the playground, which is just two blocks away.

That makes it sound like we go all the time. They, technically, are always up for a walk there, but due to a combination of my low energy and irrational fears of ebola, we've only been once. In my defense, though, watching three kids at a playground is hard. Right? You can't possibly see them all at all times and that means momentary freak-outs on my part. Not good for my adrenals.

We had some visitors last weekend, that we were all very excited about.

Clara took the move very hard. In fact, she was just sobbing once again tonight about leaving all her friends behind. So it was very cool that she got to spend an entire day with one of her best friends, who requested a visit to the city for his birthday. How cute is that? 

So, what else? Well, Ryan loves his new job. And I seriously cannot believe his hours. For the last seven years (and even more before that), he has worked afternoon until midnight. That's been our life, and I figured that would always be our life, with him working in TV news. But he now works days. Days, people! Bankers' hours! He also works some early mornings (like tomorrow, which is why I found time to blog since he's fast asleep next to me), and he'll be traveling a lot. Just as my good fortune at his amazing hours hasn't sunk in, neither has the realization that he'll be gone for days at a time. But we'll deal with that when it comes. And in the meantime, pray for no hurricanes.

Oh, and I can't leave out house-hunting, which takes up most of my time lately. This has got to be one of the worst places to look for a home in the world. Of course, the commutes are ridiculous here, and expensive doesn't even begin to describe it. But we're plugging along, going to see homes for rent, and praying that St. Joseph comes through.

Now I'm all caught up, and I will be back. I'm not sure if that's a promise or a threat. I'll leave that up to you.

I'm back, with some changes ahead

I decided to temporarily make my blog private last month and I thought absolutely no one would notice. I thought I'd simply change the setting, disappear for a few weeks, and pop back up with a new post, and no one would be any wiser. After all, I've only posted once since May. May! Not to mention that blogs have been pretty much dying a quick death thanks to the demise of Google Reader (which I never used myself, but have heard was pretty popular).

But, it turns out, I was wrong. Lo and behold, people do still actually read this little blog of mine. You emailed, texted and facebook messaged me, asking where it went and if you could read it. You made me feel so loved!

The truth is, no one had access to my blog while it was private except for me. And I didn't post anything (I don't post while it's public, so...). And now it's public again. And maybe I'll even post on a somewhat regular basis. I just hope I didn't lose all the readers I had left by getting rid of my blog for the past month.

So while I'm here, I guess I'll share some news. My husband has accepted a new job and we are moving in a couple weeks. It's an amazing opportunity. A huge answer to prayer. He'll be a national correspondent for one of the cable news channels. He'll be working for their feed service, which means you may see him pop up on one of your local channels reporting on national news. And you may see him on the actual network at times too. (As I re-read this, I sound all calm and collected. But imagine me doing a little jig and jumping up and down and that's more like how we feel about this dream situation, okay?)

We'll be living in corporate housing for a month or two, so I'll hopefully be posting about our adventures in the city. And then we'll be moving to the suburbs, which will be an adventure all its own. I'm excited and nervous and slightly overwhelmed. But mostly just thankful for this opportunity. And super proud of my hard-working husband, who is so good at what he does.

You know, being a dad. But he's pretty exceptional at the reporter thing too.

Full arms

Yesterday was supposed to be my due date.

If things had gone according to my plan, I'd have a baby in my arms right now (probably would have had a scheduled section sometime last week) as I sit in a chair in our living room watching a football game on TV. I'd be nursing, or holding a sleeping baby, or nursing a sleeping baby if she (or he) was anything like Luke.

But things didn't go according to my plan. 

So I sit not with a baby but a laptop on my lap, as my husband excitedly watches the game, while my stubborn three-year-old sleeps with his head on the kitchen table where we left him during a dinner-(take-a-bite-of-chicken-or-else)-standoff, and my two girls dance around the living room in giggles.

And I feel very content.

After my miscarriage, my womb felt empty. I had gained some weight, yet there was no baby inside. My stomach should have been growing, yet it was painfully flat (at least in the not-pregnant sense). I watched those who were as far along as I should have been with wonder and it stung. In me, there was nothing where there should have been something.

And I feared the empty arms that I had heard mentioned as well. I wondered if they would become obvious as my due date neared.

But they never did.

My arms are blessedly full. And for that I am so thankful.

I know not everyone has other babies to help ease their pain, and my heart breaks for them. And I also know no one replaces a little one lost. They are unique and the pain of their absence can last a lifetime.

I still mourn Catherine Gerard and often cry at the mere mention of her. But I am embracing the good - literally. And it is most definitely good that I have three sweet kids to keep my arms and lap and home and heart full. 

A letter to birth moms, as Mother's Day approaches

My husband, Ryan, emailed me this letter yesterday out of the blue. I happen to think it's pretty incredible, so I wanted to share it with all of you. I'm embarrassed to admit I hadn't given even a passing thought to how our daughters' birth mothers may feel on Mother's Day this year, so I am very thankful for the reminder. Our adoptions are both closed, although we were blessed to meet Essie's birth mom, and I'd like to think that maybe she may find this letter here. It's really for all birth moms, though. A truly special class of mother whom I will be thinking about this Sunday.

Dear Birth Moms,

Mother’s Day is just a few days away and, for some reason, along with all the other amazing mothers in my life, I keep thinking about both of you.

I am not sure why.

If I am being honest, I rarely if ever think about the fact that our two wonderful daughters are adopted. They both so seamlessly entered our lives in such natural ways that it is never an issue. We have three kids. Three wonderful, beautiful, healthy kids. The fact that two were adopted and one was not never makes much of a difference.

But as we get closer to Mother’s Day, I’ve been thinking about both of you.

I think part of the reason why is because, for our family, there was a pretty big chunk of time where Mother’s Day was anything but a happy occasion. I would dread the week leading up to that Sunday, knowing it would be so hard on my wife and knowing there wasn’t much I could do to take away her pain.

As I thought about how much different Mother’s Day is for us now (maybe the best weekend of the year) I started to wonder how Mother’s Day might be for you and it occurred that maybe it isn’t such a happy day.

So I decided I would write you a little note to let you know how much I appreciate you and how even though you might not be here every day, you will always be a part of the lives of the young ladies you designated to our care.

Karey and I often talk about how you are both our heroes. We know that the situations that led to the births of our daughters were difficult and even heart-wrenching times. But during that time you made the decision not to think of yourself, but to think of that precious child. You wanted the best for her and despite it being anything but easy, you fought to make sure they would be taken care of forever and in the best way possible.

And let me tell you.. they are both amazing.

Clara came to us when she was only five weeks old and a remarkable five pounds. This was after being born early and a lengthy stay in the NICU. Today she is perfectly healthy. There is not a visible hint of her premature birth and she is smart as a whip. She remembers small details we often forget, sings on tune like a perfect angel, is a constant defender of her little brother and is becoming a pretty talented artist.

In fact, despite only being four years old (although she claims she is five), she is already writing her name and a few words. Let’s just say I find it appropriate that the first word she learned how to write all by herself was “love." And she writes it everywhere she gets a chance.

Esther is a special girl as well.

At almost a year-and-a-half, she is all over the place. She never stops smiling, gets into everything and runs whatever room she is in. Despite being pint sized and without the most extensive vocabulary, she finds a way to get her point across. She almost always gets her way. It is to the point now where we have coined the phrase “Don’t Mess With Ess” to describe her.

I want you to know what amazing little people they are because none of that is possible without you. You hold a special, irreplaceable position in their lives. We never hide that from them. They know where they came from. They know their unique story and they know you are the ones that deserve the credit.

You made a tough decision to place your most precious possession in our care and I can tell you confidently it was a wise one. Primarily because of the woman you let your children call “mom.”

This weekend we will celebrate my amazing wife, who prayed her entire life toward only one goal. To be a mother. Despite that desire, God saw it fit to withhold that gift for five years, for a reason we, at the time, never understood. But all that pain went away the day we got a call that Clara was in need of our care. From that moment Karey’s central focus in this world is to give your babies all the love and care that you could have ever hoped for. There is literally nothing that shakes her from that mission. She does it with grace, with compassion and she does it in honor of the gift you gave us both.

I told you at the start of this letter that I don’t think that often about the fact that Clara and Essie are adopted and that is not 100-percent true.

From time to time there are these moments. They usually start with a big hug that includes an incredible squeeze (both of them are pretty solid squeezers).

In that moment I can’t express my love for both of them enough. It gushes out of me. I feel this need to thank someone, anyone, for the honor of being able to hold this incredible creature so close. I almost always thank God, but lately I found myself quietly thanking you. Thank you for honoring me with the responsibility of their fatherhood. Thank you for this gift.

Obviously there is no way I could ever repay this gift. So all I can do is make you this eternal promise: I will take care of these two girls with every single fiber in my being. I will protect them, I will defend them, I will make sure no harm will ever come to them. But most importantly, I will love them. I will love them every single second of every single day and I will make sure they know you love them as well.

So if Sunday rolls around and the idea of Mother’s Day puts a small pit in your stomach, I hope the knowledge that your babies are as happy and as healthy as they could possibly be makes things a little bit easier.

I am sure it won’t take away all of the pain…. But please find some small comfort in the knowledge that we couldn't possibly love these girls more, and we will never take the incredible responsibility you have given us for granted.

Happy Mother’s Day,
Ryan

Time keeps ticking

It seems that a bunch of weeks have passed without me blogging. And some of you have even checked up on me! Thank you! I assume no one even notices, or cares, so I appreciate it.

I'm okay. We're okay. Really, nothing eventful has happened at all.

We went to the beach. It was super fun, but chilly.

We're in a holding pattern for a possible move. I'm praying like crazy and anxiously awaiting God to show us what's in store. And if you have a second, and have prayed for, like, everything else in the Universe already, I wouldn't stop you from asking God to bless us in that department.

We're doing a lot of playing outside. Some preschool. But mostly playing.

Essie is keeping us EXTREMELY busy. Can I stress the "extremely"? More than the all-caps is already doing? Our crazy girl deserves her own post. Look for that coming soon.

Oh, and we have a superhero among us now. I feel safer than ever. Although I'm busy washing his cape and jammies every single day.

 
I'm not sure why I've been gone so long without coming here. Part of it, I think, is because all I wanted to blog about after the miscarriage was... the miscarriage. But who wants to hear about that every day?

And part of it is that by the time the kids go to bed at night all I'm able to do is stare blankly at the TV. And edit photos. Okay, so if we're being honest I pick editing photos over this blog. There. I said it.

But editing photos is so much more relaxing than confronting my emotions and putting them out there for everyone to see.

So, about that miscarriage. It's been particularly hard lately hearing about a) all the people due just before me who are about to pop, and b) hearing all the pregnancy announcements for, say, December. Really? Ugh. I'd be SO far along right now. I'd probably have stopped being nervous a while ago. But I'd still be counting each week as it comes, thankful for every single one. And yet time just keeps on ticking. People who weren't even pregnant yet when I miscarried know their baby's gender. 

I don't know why that depresses me, but it just does.

And then the guilt sets in. I'm so lucky! I'm so blessed! How can I feel this way?

That's a rhetorical question. At least it is tonight because I have no answer.

I'm already up too late (darn blogging!) so I must go. Hopefully I'll be back before June. 

To those in the thick of it

I found myself searching my blog for something the other night and couldn't help but skim several old posts. Wow. I came away with one feeling. And it wasn't what you may be thinking, that so many amazing things were on the horizon for me back then. Just hold on! Good things are coming your way!

No, it wasn't that at all. It was something quite different. My thoughts were more along the lines of, Woah, girl. This is some serious stuff you're dealing with. Emotionally, spiritually, physically. My head is spinning just thinking about it. I give you loads of credit. I don't think I have it in me.

Of course, funny thing, it was me. But I can't even imagine being that person now. And it's not because I'm a mom. Heck no. It's because she was strong and driven and motivated and tireless (even though I was tired all the time, at least according to my old posts).

Cuddling with my baby, circa 2009

Now I think I've got it bad if I haven't gotten out of the house in a few days or if I don't get to sit down by lunch time. Those things have got nothing on the feeling of your heart being crushed right inside of you as you mourn the loss of babies who have never existed, all while trying to keep straight your myriad medical problems as you recover from a surgery or two or three.

My mom and I, venturing out for the first time after my third surgery, annoying abdominal-wrap-thing under my dress.

 
Infertility is some serious business.

I thought it was fresh in my memory. I could have sworn it was never far off, that it was like a muscle memory my body will always know. It's been four years this month since I conceived Luke, so secondary infertility (and now pregnancy loss) has brought up similar, albeit much more muted, emotions.

But I was wrong. Yes, the pain is memorable - that feeling like I couldn't breathe, the jealousy that I could feel eating away at my insides, the despair that I wondered if anyone could ever pull me out of. That, I remember.

It's the day-to-day effort, the sheer strength that was required, that I have forgotten. What went into taking that next breath, driving to doctor appointment after doctor appointment, keeping track of all my medications and levels and what needs to be tested next, charting, temping, researching adoption agencies, avoiding baby showers, attending baby showers, crying in bed, attempting to make sense of it all every second of every day, begging God endlessly to have mercy on me and make my husband a father; that's the stuff that I don't find myself thinking about anymore.

Those parts of infertility are like the labor - painful and necessary to reach the desired end (whether it be children or health, or both) but so overwhelming that my mind neatly tucks it away in its far recesses, like old blog posts that are forgotten until you search for them.

Some much-needed respite from the throes of infertility, with those who understood

And that's why I must say this: Infertility is incredibly hard. To those who are in the thick of it right now, I'm not going to tell you it'll all be okay because you very well know that no one can tell you that. But I can tell you that you are courageous simply because you are hanging on and living and breathing through every single moment, whether it hurts or not. And some of you, unlike myself on most days back then, are even managing to be joyful and hopeful through it all. And living your lives to the fullest. But if you struggle to do that too, don't worry. You are doing the very best you can. You are fighting the good fight for your family, no matter how that family ends up looking. I have to believe you are pleasing God.

Maybe you won't even see this (I know I didn't read blogs filled with smiling toddlers when I was suffering through infertility). And maybe you don't care what this mom-of-three who has "crossed over" has to say about it in the first place. But I know you. I was you. And I know you could probably use a pick-me-up. So please accept this virtual hug and high-five. Keep carrying that cross and inspiring those around you (because you are, even though you probably have no idea). I'm praying for you always.