Motherhood can be, kind of, ugly.

There are plenty of not-so-great qualities about myself. I can be petty and selfish and I have never ever liked my nose. I have a lot to work on, and the older I get, the more areas I notice.

But I have always loved my hair- it has always been good to me.  And then thanks to really great genetics, I've never had to work hard at being a healthy weight. I didn't say I'm a Skinny Minnie. But I can put down some ice cream with little consequence. Also, my eyes. Ever since I got contacts in the 7th grade, I found confidence in my almond shaped emerald eyes.

AND THEN 2017 HAPPENED. 

First, we'll talk Hair. After Lucas was born, it all fell out. 

Oh Tricia, you're so dramatic. 

NO. I have two large bald spots at my hairline. My beautiful hair, what doesn't fall out during a rare shower, became brittle and stringy and greasy all the time. Postpartum hair loss is fairly common, so I tell myself that it will go back to normal. 

I'm not about to complain about my c-section belly bump because I will always be 100% grateful I was able to carry two babies full-term. This big ole belly was Lucas' first home. And since he was over 10 pounds, it looks like a good portion of his first home is a permanent part of my life now. It is here to stay, no matter how much kale I grin-bear-eat.

Eyes. Have you ever heard of recurrent corneal erosion? Neither had I, until I was diagnosed with it in January. Back in August, Ella accidentally swatted my eye and although I didn't think anything of it at the time, it did some serious damage. Initially, my left eye just hurt when I took out my contact. It got so bad that I couldn't wear my contacts anymore at all. Then after Lucas was born and I was sleeping better, I started waking up in the night in excruciating pain. I could not sleep for more than a 3 hour stretch before waking up with the pain, and it would take about an hour for it to ease up enough for me to go back to sleep. 

The ophthalmologist explained that when my eye was first scratched, it formed a scab for healing, just like when you scrape your knee. But when I wore my contact, the scab would adhere to the contact. So when I would remove the contact, I was pulling the scab off of my eyeball. 

Does the very thought of ripping off an eyeball scab make you want to go running, screaming into the ocean?

When I was sleeping, the scab was adhering to my eyelid. Whenever I opened my eyes, Rip. Horrible pain. During rapid eye movement sleep, when my eye would move, Rip. Horrible pain. 

It got so bad that I was hardly able to sleep at all. 

Add to that a four year old, a three year old, a two year old, and a newborn. 

Add to that, a husband working long hours and studying for his boards at night. 

Add to that we had moved far from family and friends, so I felt lonely and isolated. 

It was not a pretty time for me. I didn't recognize immediately that I was also dealing with postpartum depression. I always thought you had postpartum depression  if you felt unattached to your new baby, and I only had feelings of love for that smooshy sack of sugar. My depression came in the form of uncontrollable rage. Which was so weird because I've never been an angry person. But there I was, screaming into a sweatshirt in my closet, because I had no other outlet for the raging anger bubbling out. I feel so very ugly when I'm in these rage-fueled moments. I feel overwhelmed and out of control and just ugly.

I know how ridiculous a lot of this sounds. I know how whiny it all is. 

#firstworldproblems 

It is not at all lost on me that I have it so good while other people struggle with much worse.

At least my hair loss is from having a beautiful baby and not because I'm undergoing chemo for cancer.

I should remember how many girls would proudly carry extra weight around their mid-section if it meant they could finally have the baby they pray for every single day. 

I need to be thankful that even though my eye situation was a complete hellscape, I still have my sight- I never lost my vision. And thanks to corneal surgery, I can sleep pain-free. (don't google what they do for eyeball surgery- just know it was horrific)

I get lost in my pity parties, then I immediately feel guilty for being bummed about such insignificant and petty things. So I live on this emotional rollercoaster of pity then guilt, pity then guilt.

I was soooooo tired one night while I was combing out Abby Bette's hair. Caleb was working his weekend shift, so I had the kiddos all to myself. I was trying to comb her hair into two puffs. Lucas was screaming in the baby swing. Ella and Joshua were jumping on the couch downstairs. Abs was yelling at me that she did NOT WANT PUFFS. She wanted a long ponytail. I was trying to gently tell her that I didn't have magic powers- her short afro wasn't going to make a long ponytail happen. She pitched a fit and I had to spend a hot minute in my screaming closet. 

On the way out, I passed by our bathroom mirror and saw myself. Flushed and sweaty from being a Rage Monster. Bald spots. Fat belly. Glasses hiding my pretty eyes. 

I didn't recognize that middle-aged woman in the mirror. 

I once led mission trips in Ecuador. 

I have hiked to the top of a volcano in Guatemala. 

I coordinated live shots with CNN during Hurricane Katrina. 

I talked with a homeless Canadian man about Jesus- he went on to help plant a church. 

I danced until 4am at fraternity parties and then ate breakfast platters at Waffle House.

So where was that girl? 

I felt a little bit lost in my own life. 

I felt very ugly on the outside, and the feelings of rage made me feel ugly on the inside too. 

When we meet new people here in NC, I feel the need to explain that what they see is not really who I am. I don't usually wear glasses, I want them to know. I'm usually not 20 pounds overweight, I need them to understand. My hair sometimes looks better than this, I'm not usually sweating like crazy (thanks postpartum medication), I'm not always frantically running after four kids.... there's this other part of me that is lively and funny and friendly. I don't usually look this bad. I'm usually more fun to be around. Please be my friend!

This past Friday afternoon, it started pouring down rain outside. Abby Bette was watching TV and the other three were napping. I went out on the front porch, sat on the top step, and enjoyed the sound of the rain. Abs came out and sat beside me. 

We talked about how the heavy downpour reminded us of the frequent storms back home in Mobile. We talked about other things, girl-to-girl, and shared a bag of chocolate chips. It was nice. I asked her what her favorite food was and she told me pancakes. I asked her what her favorite movie was right now and she told me Smurfs. I asked her what  her favorite thing about school was and she told me about the butterfly thing they have in her preschool classroom. 

I asked her what she would change about herself if she could choose one thing. She said her hair because she wants a long ponytail and not puffs. Instead of giving her my usual spill, I asked her why a long ponytail was so important to her.

Because you have a long ponytail, Mom.

And then I remembered that she's been begging me for real glasses- not fake ones. I asked her why she wanted glasses. 

Because you have glasses, Mom. 

What do you want to be when you grow up, Abby Bette? I ask her. 

A Mommy. 

 

She wants to be just like me. She doesn't see my bald spots, and she thinks glasses are cool because her mommy wears them. Childhood innocence is a precious thing.

 

Maybe I'll feel more secure about my looks one day. Maybe I'll make a friend or two while we live up here. Maybe my hair will grow back. Maybe it won't.

I'm in the Mommy Zone, and it's not so pretty at times. I literally bought a new swimsuit and it has a skirt. A skirt, people. 

But I am going to absolutely love playing with my kids at the beach this summer. I will have to put extra sunscreen on my forehead- can't have those bald spots burn! I will have to wear super dorky sunglasses that are made to fit over glasses, and I will probably look chunky in my swimsuit with a skirt. 

It's not going to look pretty. But after my chat with Abs, I'm confident I'll look back on this phase of my life, this motherhood phase, and I'll remember it as the most beautiful part of all. 

Watching Joshua hold open a door for someone else.

Listening to Abby Bette sincerely pray. 

Hearing Ella's crazy giggles.

Feeling Lucas' slobber kisses on my cheek. 

Caleb holding my hand.

My life is beautiful.

 

 

Christmas Dove

 Before we dive in to the bulk of this bloggy blog, I want to clarify that this post has nothing to do with adoption. I'm just using this platform to help get the word out on a project I've been working on for almost a year. Today, we go LIVE! I'm hoping this blog post will help explain everything :)

SO, HERE GOES!!!!!!........

Last year, on the eve of December One, I was scrolling Facebook and saw post after post of hilarious Elf on the Shelf set-ups.

I sighed.

The Christmas Season hadn't even officially started, and I already felt like Scrooge.

My husband and I had decided several years ago not to do Santa (GASP! HORRORS!)- we earnestly wanted our family's Christmas to be about Jesus. Which was easy when our oldest was too young to know any different. But this year she was old enough to notice, and although I felt like we were doing the right thing for us as a family, I felt a little bummed that we weren't doing the magical thing.

I knew I wasn't the only one who struggled with how to "do Christmas." I had talked to so many friends who weren't sure how to navigate the holidays and also moms of older kids who wished they had done things differently.

What did I want my kids to "get" out of Christmas? The joy of giving and how it connects to Jesus' birth. He was born to give us life. I didn't want them to miss that amid all the toys that they would forget about by February. 

But surely there was a way to focus on Christ, and it be super fun and magical too, right? I mean, I still want to have fun with my kids during Christmas! What does that look like without Santa and Elves on Shelves and leaving out carrots for the reindeer? I searched all over Pinterest that night and found  nothing that spoke to me.

So, on that night before December 1st, I grabbed a dove ornament off my tree and plotted an entire fictional scenario that during the Christmas season, this dove flies around our community looking for people who need help, encouragement, or maybe just a little Christmas Magic. Each morning the dove would have a report on what it found, a way the kids could help, and all the supplies they would need.

I started the very next morning, and to my surprise, it was a hit! My oldest daughter loved it. And each morning, she hopped out of bed to see what the Christmas Dove had to report for the day.

Some nights when I felt fun and creative, I would set up the dove and supplies in a crazy way (like I saw other moms doing with Elf on a Shelf). Other nights when I was too zonked, I counted it as a win just to set it all out on the breakfast table. Either way, the kids loved it and were excited about the activity for that day.

Each morning, we did the activity to help the people the Dove reported to us about. They were simple, inexpensive, intentional acts of kindness that my kids enjoyed and that opened the door for me to talk to them about things like giving, having compassion, being thankful, and most importantly, tying it all back to Jesus.

The most fun activities were sometimes the ones I was worried wouldn't work. Like candy cane bombing the hospital parking lot. Well, my kids LOVED it and meticulously placed a candy cane on every single car handle. Security asked if we had enough candy canes to do the overflow lot.

Other hits were taking doggie treats to the animal shelter. They let the kids play with the smaller dogs- so fun! And the best of all was giving Hershey bars to cashiers at Wal Mart. You would have  thought we had given those workers big time cash money-  they were all so excited and grinning from ear to ear. It felt like the whole store was buzzing with Christmas Spirit!

Christmas Dove is perfect for my family: we spent the month of December training our eyes to truly see the vulnerable around us and then taking the next step to do something about it.  Christmas Eve is the best of all- there is no act of service (it's a busy day anyway!); rather, we talk about how all our good works can't save everybody. We can't save because we're not the Savior. And that's why Jesus was born (and that's why we celebrate).

Don't worry guys- my kids still got 8,000 gifts each. Their Christmas Morning was absolutely magical. They didn't miss out on a thing. I would argue they gained so much more.

When you purchase a Christmas Dove pack, you are getting everything you need:
-a Christmas Dove with a clip to attach to your tree for "resting" during the day
-parent guide with a daily breakdown of each day's activity
-card with each day's Report from the Dove
-supply list
-Devotional book which will tie in with each day's activity.

And can I just say the Devotional is worth it just by itself! Each devotion is written by a seminary trained author, and it is beautifully illustrated by an amazing artist.

We hope the Christmas Dove helps families engage in joyful service and giving so that kids learn to see the vulnerable around them and act on making things better.

We also hope the Christmas Dove pack makes things easier on parents. No more late-night Pinterest searches! Everything you need is right here. We want to make this as easy as possible for you so that you can just enjoy doing the activities with your kids!

Please visit the Christmas Dove facebook page by clicking RIGHT HERE. It would be great if you would LIKE the Christmas Dove page. (and, hey, share it if you feel like it!)


Information about the Christmas Dove, how to order, and sample devotionals are already posted. During December, we'll post tips and suggestions for how to make the most of each act of kindness, and we definitely hope those who participate will post pics of their kiddos in action!


The entire Christmas Dove kit will be $30 (plus shipping). Since we're not sure how this is going to go over (and because I'm having a baby next month), we're only going to take a very limited amount of pre-orders. We are only accepting payment through Paypal this year. All you have to do is comment on the FB page that you want to place an order, include your Paypal email address, and then I'll invoice you. Very Easy! 

I'll be honest. After Christmas last year, I was SO EXCITED to get the ball rolling on this idea- I really wanted to make it accessible for other moms because it was so awesome for my little family. And then in February, we were completely thrown off guard to find out we were pregnant with Baby #4. I had another turbulent first trimester and was really overwhelmed with our move to North Carolina looming over the summer. I figured I would have to put this whole Christmas Dove project on hold.

But then a few months later, my sister, who agreed to work on the devotional aspect of the project, emailed me a document with about 15 of the devotionals already done. And they were all so good. Her willingness and confidence in this project gave me a new sense of determination to go for it. So that's what we're doing! We cast a net for an illustrator and actually got one! We've gotten quotes from self-publishing companies. I've been sewing doves during naptimes. We have a Mom Panel that has helped weigh in on everything from the FB page to fabric for the doves. 

All this, and we might not sell a single one. But I believe in this project so much that I feel like we have to give it a try. 

So please check us out at www.facebook.com/ChristmasDoveCommunity! LIKE our page, SHARE it with your friends, and maybe even BUY one for your family, or GIVE it as a gift!

No matter what, we hope you'll join us in teaching our kids that it's not just bout BEING good, but DOING good! 

Ramblings on my Secret Desire for a Live-In Photographer

This is one of my most favorite pictures ever, in the whole world, just, the best. We used this for our Christmas Card last year, and it's blown up big-time and framed and sitting on a chest that you see immediately when you first walk into our home.

My husband looks handsome, my kiddos look beautiful, but let's be honest here.... MY HAIR LOOKS AMAZING. It has never ever looked that good in my whole life and I am 100% sure that the ladies at TTF photo-shopped it- and I am totally cool with that.  

I will never have hair like this again for many reasons, mainly that I made a commitment to myself never to go a year and a half between haircuts again, but I will always have a reminder that there was this one time that I looked bonkers good.  This pic is also the background on my phone and whenever I'm having a bad day/moment, I pull out my phone and stare at that hair. 

I feel like this is how I want my kids to remember me, looking happy and healthy and put-together.  So these are the pictures I choose to frame and hang all over our house. 

 But more and more, I'm realizing this is not only PROPAGANDA and basically brainwashing at this point, but I've been reflecting on how I really do want my kids to remember me.

After surviving a stomach bug that swept through our house this week, I found myself sitting in a chair by the dishwasher late last night, slowly unloading it dish by dish but so tired that I had to lay down on the floor to rest and take breaks. It occurred to me that I wish someone would take my picture doing this so that one day my kids would have concrete evidence that I, in fact, did quite a bit for them, particularly when I did not feel like it. I would frame this picture and give it to each of them on the eve of their wedding. 

That photo would look something like this one, which I sent to my sister when she asked how I was feeling lately. I sent her this photo with no text- it needs no explaining. My mom won't like that I put this picture of myself on the internet, so no one tell her. 

Another picture I would have liked my Live-In Photographer to take would have been  me blowing up balloons about an hour ago for Abby Bette's birthday. Blowing up 12 balloons while 31 weeks pregnant was no small thing. I actually bought 24 balloons, hoping Caleb would blow up half with me, but he fell asleep watching baseball. I'm not begrudging him for sleeping- he works hard for the money. But let's be clear, 24 balloons would have had MUCH greater impact than 12 and I am going for Maximum Birthday Magic here, today and everyday. Preggo Trish blowing up balloons should have been documented because I want to be able to pull it out whenever one of my angels in the future shows me any lip. 

Other pics desired:

-Me trying to cook dinner over a hot stove while pregnant with Joshua crying and clinging to one leg while Ella is crying and clinging to my other leg. 

-Me sewing coordinating shirts with their names on it for them to wear on their first day of pre-school and also to the hospital when the new baby arrives. (never will I attempt this again- ETSY FOR LIFE)

-Me lying awake in bed at 3:30am because of pregnancy insomnia

-Me lying half-dead on the kitchen floor at 7:30am, trying to get breakfast on the table, but I'm too tired thanks to pregnancy insomnia, and also Joshua just poured an entire box of Honey Nut Cheerios on my face. 

-Me dangling perilously over our staircase trying to hang a bright pink celebration garland for AB's birthday. Again, don't tell my mom I did this, it will only upset her. Although, she was the Birthday Party Queen so she should understand the need for proper party decor. 

There are many other options for pictures my Live-In Photographer could take, we have ample material over here, but I'm too tired to type out more right now #pregnancyinsomnia.

This year has been a little wonkadoodle for our family. The day after we came back from Disney World in mid-February, we found out #4 was on the way. I was JUST FIGURING OUT how to KIND OF mother three children. Morning sickness, which in my case is 24/7 sickness, immediately set in and for six weeks, my kids were left to roam the house while Caleb was at work. They basically became feral. I'm still not sure what they ate during this time.

 It was hard, but I made it.

 By the time I was out of the first trimester and feeling better, it was time to pack up the house and move to NC for Caleb's fellowship. Ella never got the gist of packing things in boxes- she would take out every single item the second I turned around to grab the next thing to pack. That meant the only time I could pack was late at night since she doesn't nap.

 It was tricky, but I did it. 

Here in NC, we are still trying to empty boxes and get this rental feeling like home. I try to take the kids somewhere every morning, like a nature trail or the science museum, so that they're out of the house and not total TV zombies. This is so hard for me because have I mentioned I have pregnancy insomnia? Abby Bette cries sometimes at night because she misses her friends back in Mobile, and it absolutely breaks our hearts. We moved Joshua out of the crib to his big-boy bed and our good sleeper whom we used to call Old Man Butts now likes to party until 10pm. 

It's not easy, but I'm getting through it. 

I want my kids to remember me as STRONG. A woman who could DO ANYTHING. A mother who could HANDLE IT ALL.

But that is more propaganda than my amazing hair picture.

If there is anything that I have learned this past summer, especially over the past few days, is that I cannot do it. There is no fun in admitting this to myself, in this social media perfect era. 

About two weeks ago, things got so bad (#pregnancyinsomnia) that I called my mom crying so hard that she and my dad drove 11 hours to spend the week helping me. I can't do any of this on my own. 

We moved ourselves from Mobile to North Carolina at the end of June, and one of our best friend's, Mark Rudd, drove all the way there with Caleb to help us unpack the truck and move furniture in. My Dad drove me (and I threw up the whole way, fun fact) and also helped us unpack the truck. My mom, sister, and brother drove the kids up from Starkville. It took 12 hours for them to drive through blinding rain and construction. No one complained ever- they smiled the entire time. We couldn't have done any of that on our own. 

The biggest lesson came this past Thursday evening, during Stomach Bug Apocalypse 2017. Abs had been sick the day before, so I knew it was coming for the rest of us. My stomach started cramping around 4pm and even though I could hear Ella hollering from her crib, I couldn't muster the strength to go get her. At 5pm, Caleb texted to let me know he was going to be home from work late, so I knew I was on my own.

I started up the stairs to get Ella out, pausing on each stair to catch my breath and struggle through another stomach cramp, when I saw Joshua. He was covered in vomit, sprawled on the stairs, and looked kind of dead. I somehow picked him up, avoided stepping in mess when I could, and got him in the bath tub, all before I started getting sick.

With Ella crying in her crib, Joshua lethargic in the bathtub, and me also throwing up, Abby Bette started running in periodically to have diarrhea. 

It was beyond me. I couldn't do it. I was not strong enough. I could not get through this on my own.

All I could do was lay down on the bathroom floor, clutching my huge tummy. I laid there with my eyes closed when I heard the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

In his sickly, weak voice, Joshua started singing:

This is the day, this is the day

That the Lord has made, that the Lord has made

I will rejoice, I will rejoice

And be glad in it, and be glad in it. 

He sang the whole song, then he stuck out his hand for me to hold. I laid on the floor next to the bathtub, his little black hand in my tired white one, and I marveled at the way the Lord ministered to me through my sick two-year-old son. 

Since I do not have a Live-In Photographer, I had to take a good mental picture of the moment his hand was in mine, and how my hand was in His. 

Because in a moment of great need, God reminded me that it is not about ME at all; I cannot do it all, and I will never come close. But The One who made this day CAN handle it and HAS ALREADY handled it on the cross. And although I am too tired to rejoice, I can easily be glad in it.

And when all is said and done, I'm starting to figure out that THAT is what I want my kids to remember about me. That I could not do it all, and I made every mistake in the book. That every day (except for one glorious portrait session), my hair was in a horrible knot on top of my head, and my clothes usually stunk from them wiping their noses on my shirt. But that their mother leaned on the Lord and that any strength she had came from Him. And no photographer can capture that. 

Turn you eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face;
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.

Mothers in Their Hearts

 As you might imagine, my crew gets a lot of comments from strangers. It's all nice and well-meaning for sure- I used to be worried about what other people might say in front of my beautiful multi-racial, very close in age kiddos, but to date there has not been one bad thing said. The most popular comment by far is "whew-you've got your hands full!" or "whew- you're busy!" or sometimes just a big "WHEW!" 

I always smile and laugh with them and keep pushing the stroller or grocery buggy. Strangers in Wal-Mart are right- my hands are full, my life is busy, and I don't consider it a complaint to admit that the day-to-day is overall really kind of hard. 

It's a lot of sweeping up cheerios and combing out afros and cleaning out milk-curdled sippy cups I find waaaaaaaay too late under the couch. There have been days where I change six stinky diapers before 10am, find Abby Bette in the bath tub fully clothed shoes and all, discover a cache of bacon I didn't know had been crammed in a drawer, re-fold all the blankets that were pulled out for a dolly slumber party, and cook dinner with two children clinging to my legs crying for rolos. Fun Fact: Joshua's first word was rolo. If I would just give him rolos for every meal there would be so much less conflict in our home. 

I asked Abby Bette to say her school Bible verse to her teacher one day and she goes, "The ears of the wise seek out SAUSAGE!" then laughed maniacally (it's knowledge, if you're wondering, not sausage). Joshua loves to throw things: toys, food, crayons... and this drives Ella, my clean freak, to pure madness.  She helps me empty the dishwasher plate by plate which is so cute and sweet but also makes it take 20 minutes to do something that should only take five. The same with moving clothes from the washer to the dryer. And putting up folded clothes into drawers. And putting stray toys back into the toy basket. And sweeping. And everything. 

I haven't jogged by myself in over three years. If I want to "work out" I make sure everyone has a clean diaper, Abs uses the potty, I pack a sippy cup for each, buckle them all into the triple stroller, then turn on Pandora to VeggieTales. Running while pushing 100 pounds looks ridiculous and about the time you get going, someone (Joshua) has thrown a sippy cup to the ground. Then Abs screams because Ella pulled a clump of her hair out. Then Joshua hollers because Abs is leaning away from Ella the Hair Puller and is now all up in his area. Then of course it's starting to rain when I'm the farthest point from the house, but that's when the real work out starts haha. Once home, my angels behave perfectly as I get them into the house from the stroller. Big smirk. 

One night as I was tucking Abs in, she gently took my face in her sweet little hands, pulled me close, then told me my bweath stinks soooooo bad. I told her it was from all the ice cream I ate behind her back while she was in the bathtub (ha! in her face!). Ella does not and never has napped at all. SO THERE'S THAT.

Joshua loves to push these days and he has no intention of stopping because he's discovered all he has to do when in trouble is to hug and kiss his victim and say "I sawwy" and he know this weak mama thinks that's good enough because he is SO DARN CUTE.  

When asked what her favorite part of our Disney Trip was, Abs always says the hotel pool which makes me cuh-razy. At school, she rolls around in the playground mulch and brings home all of it knit into her beautiful hair. Like sand, mulch is a booger to get out of ethnic hair. 

They are messy and loud and whiny and adorable and always seem to need something..... rolos, apple juice, Diego, Little Einsteins, a snack, the yo-yo she got at school, the harmonica I secretly threw away. 

I worry that I don't spend enough quality time with each one. I worry I don't read enough to each one. I worry that Abby Bette has only eaten waffles for breakfast for a whole month while I was so sick with this recent 1st trimester. I worry that things will only get harder in October when the new baby comes. I worry that they won't have friends for a while when we move to North Carolina this summer. 

The other night during Girl Chat, Abby Bette out of the blue told me in one breath, "I'm brown and Joshua's brown and Mama's white and Daddy's white and Ella's white." I asked her what color she thought the new baby would be. I tried to be silly and say maybe it would be green or purple or polka dotted. She responded, "no, it will be white." I told her it didn't matter because we would love the baby no matter what, just like we love her no matter what.

 I'm not dumb enough to think we would never have these hard conversations, I just didn't think she would pick up on things like that this early. So I worry about that too. I worry about navigating with grace the complexity of adoption and being a multi-racial family. The feelings these sweet little souls will have about their place in their family and in this world. I worry about them feeling different and out of place at church and school. I worry about the first time someone calls them the n-word. I worry about my big strong black baby boy growing into a big strong black man who is unfairly treated by his peers or maybe by police all because of his rolo-colored skin. 

Being a mom to a three year old, a two year old, a one year old, and one more coming in October is hard. And when strangers tell me that in passing, I do just smile and laugh and keep on going. 

But you know what was harder for me than three with one on the way?

Zero. 

No kids was a million times harder.  

Wanting kids but getting nowhere was the great spiritual war of my lifetime (so far). Infertility is exhausting, isolating, scary, and so so sad. It's doing expensive ovulation kits, and not eating dairy because I read an article that says dairy decreases fertility, and a million hours of internet research learning about things I never thought I'd care about like luteal phase, and then discovering there is such thing as African Fertility Yams and lo and behold you can buy them on Amazon, but it's not Prime, so shipping is wonkadoo. But then I  consider the fact that yams shipped from Africa are still cheaper than invitro fertilization so I bring it up to Caleb and he doesn't even blink because $120 for African fertility yams is completely in line with the other crazy things I've brought up recently. 

Once you realize getting pregnant is going to be a thing for you,  every single other female of child-bearing age will get pregnant. This is not hyperbole; it is scientific fact. You will be surrounded by beautiful baby bumps. Your facebook feed will be filled with creative pregnancy announcements and hospital birth photos. 

This is when the isolation seeped in for me. Not only did I feel left out of the Mommy Club, but my friends were in a completely different phase of life than me- one I could not relate to. I wanted the opportunity to be in that phase of life, but no matter what I did or how hard I tried or how little dairy I ate, nothing worked. 

In a conversation with a  friend a few days ago, she used the word behind to describe how she was feeling. She felt like she was behind schedule, so to speak. And that's how I felt too. Everyone else's life was moving on, but I felt stuck. My wheels  were spinning but we were getting nowhere and it was exhausting and lonely. 

The adoption process was no better. It is a part time job. It is incredibly frustrating and tedious and heartbreaking. You feel like a beggar. You pray to be picked and try not to think about what it means for the woman picking you. You wait and wait and wait and wait and it is exhausting and humbling. 

I remember going on runs to clear my aching head and just getting so overwhelmed that I would start uncontrollably crying mid-jog. I would awkwardly run home while boo-hooing. I must have looked crazy. And I kind of was. A sad, lonely, exhausted form of crazy. 

Three kids is hard, but zero was harder. 

Days that my little angels are actually whiny little monsters, I look at the clock reading 7:30am and wonder how I'm going to make it to bedtime at 7:30pm. Then I remind myself that this is what I wanted, this is what I cried thousands of tears over, and this is what I begged God for. 

The summer before we found out we had been matched for a baby (Abby Bette), I was in the depths of my grief. I had quit a fantastic teaching job and told everyone that I was focusing solely on photography, but the truth was I was holding out all hope that we would get a baby soon. One day that summer, I walked to my neighbor's house to casually chat with her and her mom.

Her mom happened to ask if I was getting geared back up for school to start back and she was surprised to hear I had quit teaching. I told her I was going to be a Stay-at-Home Mom, I just didn't have any kids yet and then I started crying (of course). 

She wrapped me in a huge hug and whispered in my ear, "I've had every thought you've thought. I've cried every tear you've cried. I've prayed every prayer you've prayed." It was the  best thing anyone has ever said to me. She understood what it felt like to be a Mother in your heart.

This Mother's Day, to all my friends out there who are Mothers in their Hearts....you who are waiting on that positive pregnancy test, you who are waiting for that phone to ring from the adoption agency..... I hope you claim this day for your own. I hope you use this day as a sabbath from the sadness and loneliness and exhaustion you are facing in your life right now. I hope you don't feel lost in the crowd of women with baby bumps. I hope you decide to go to church on the 14th even though you won't get a rose this year or get a free family photo. 

Caleb asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day this year. I want to give Mothers in their Hearts my "Mother's Day." It's yours. I honor you. We'll be making a donation in your honor to the adoption fund at our church. 

In doing so, I hope you feel loved on a day that you would otherwise feel lonely. For all the Mothers in their Hearts reading this, I pray you and your child find each other quickly. I pray next this time next year is a joyful one for you; no longer a day you dread. Until then, never forget:

I've had every thought you've thought. 

I've cried every tear you've cried. 

I've prayed every prayer you've prayed.

Please Get Another Excuse

In early 2015, I learned of four babies about to be born in Florida who all needed homes. I put a simple message out on facebook and was overwhelmed with the response. I received over 200 personal messages inquiring on behalf of those four babies.

Due to the high volume, I replied with a stock message with the attorney's contact information, due dates of the babies, the fact that the babies were all bi-racial, and also that the adoption fee was $25,000.

One woman struggling with infertility for many years who said herself that she was desperate to adopt wrote me back with this response:

“I have to draw the line at bi-racial.” Meaning she wouldn't be pursuing this lead any further because of the babies' races.

You know what I thought to myself when I read that? What I, mama to two black children, thought about her?

I thought, “At least she's honest.”

Because within those 200 contacts I received about those babies, you wouldn't believe how so many wrote me back saying they couldn't look into it further because of the MONEY.

“We don't have $25,000,” they said.

“Why is it so much money?” they asked.

I can tell you why adoptions cost what they do, but I will do that at another time because for now, the COST is not the point. Right now, the EXCUSE is the point I'm hoping to drive home.

Lately, everyone has been more up in arms about abortion and pro-life. If I see something on social media about being pro-life, I always comment that as Christians we should be the first in line to adopt and foster.

Inevitably, someone will comment that adoptions would be more frequent if the cost wasn't so high.

And then I go running, screaming into the ocean.

Do you hear what is actually being said?

We are telling vulnerable children they are not worthy.

And that is a shame.

A graph of the United States has been circulating facebook, showing the numbers of children by state living in state-run homes, meaning they are up for adoption because their biological parental rights have been terminated. They are orphans. Without a doubt, the person sharing it typically says something like, “It's so sad, all the beautiful children needing good homes! If only adoption didn't cost so much!”

If you are using the excuse that adoptions are too expensive, then please choose another one.

Here's a list you can pull from:

I don't want to give so much money to a birth mother just for her to change or mind.

Foster kids make me nervous.

I can't handle what people in Wal-Mart will think when they see me with a black kid.

I don't want to sacrifice my lifestyle to be able to afford an adoption.

I want a baby, not the baggage that comes with adopting a toddler or older child.

Adopting a child out of foster care is virtually free. I am not aware of any financial burden whatsoever involved in adopting through the state. There is a time investment (paperwork and court dates), but not a monetary one.

This fact stings us in our hearts, because when our “not enough money” excuse is stripped away, we're left with the truth showing:

Adopting an older child out of foster care is scary.

The excuse that adoptions are too much money is giving yourself a way out.

It's allowing you to forgo digging deep within yourself to get to the heart of the matters which scare you most.

And don't get me wrong- your fears are legitimate.

Children in foster care will have issues because they have had a tough go of it.

Birth mothers will make bad decisions because their situations are chaotic.

People in Wal-Mart might stare because strangers can be wackadoos.

But let me remind you that as Christ Followers, we do not live in fear.

Say that to yourself everytime you want to blame your checkbook.

So where can the money come from?

Deliver pizzas on the weekends.

Get a second job.

Bake cakes during the Holidays for extra money.

Babysit for extra money.

Do whatever it freaking takes to bring your child home. To get your child out of a state home and into your home.

Do whatever it takes.

You are not too good to deliver pizzas. You are not over-qualified to babysit.

Most of you are reading this and thinking that my husband is a doctor. How obnoxious for me of all people to rail about other people spending money.

You are right- Caleb is a doctor.

He is in his 5^th year of surgery training in which he makes a teacher's salary (and works 80 hours a week.... much like many teachers I know!). For the next two years, he will be doing additional training in which he still won't be making a “doctor's salary.” Also, we still have medical school debt.

But we 100% were able to self-fund two adoptions. Abby Bette's was $15,000 and Joshua's was $25,000. We pulled this off because.....

Jehovah Jireh

The Lord Provides

For us, He provided me a full-time job in a public school for four years.

He provided me also with a small photography business which brought in a lot of extra income.

He provided Caleb with the opportunity to moonlight in the emergency room on his off-shifts.

He provided us with friends and family who have given us SO MUCH baby stuff: clothes, toys, diapers, cribs, bedding, bath towels, shoes, walkers, swings, car seats... you name it- it's been given.

The point is, if you truly feel God is placing the idea of adoption in your thoughts and heart, then He will make a way- and that includes a financial way.

Very few people have $25,000 tucked away in a savings account. It's a good excuse for not adopting. Which is exactly why you should stop using it.

Worth. Every. Penny.

Not Forgotten

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.

So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”

If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you.

For you are my little bunny.” *

Not too long ago, I was pushing the two youngest in the triple stroller, and Abs was lollygagging behind us. In the distance, I could see a car headed our way, so I hollered at her to catch up and stand by us while we wait for the car to go by.

Well, in the process, her shoe came off and that is when she panicked. Her instinct was to run back for her shoe, and then I could see on her face that she thought she was going to get hit by the car. The car was actually a good ways off, but Abs completely melted.

I held her shaking little body in my arms while she wailed, and I told her she was safe. I told her I would have jumped in front of that car long before it ever could have touched her. I told her I would always do everything in my power to keep her safe.

We tell our kids all about the lengths we would go to keep them safe, and we mean it. And if they were lost, we tell them we would never give up looking for them, and we mean it. We want our kids to know in their soul that no matter where they are, we will always get to them.

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother,

“I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

Two days ago, I visited one of my best friends at her house. They are at the tail end of an international adoption with China and have been matched with a child. They're just waiting on the paperwork to be processed so they can go get him.

In other words, they have a son on the other side of the earth that they cannot get to.

My friend has three grainy pictures of her son, given to her from the caretakers at the orphanage. She has them all framed throughout the house, alongside beautiful portraits of her other children.

It's one thing to be in the process of adopting a child. But now it's a he and he has a name and a face and a birthday next month that won't be celebrated together with his family and the literal ocean separating their family weighs so heavy and seeps into every little thought.

Like family portraits. It just feels weird. We were talking about this very thing the other day because how do you take family portraits with the kids you have here while still acknowledging the son you have worlds away?

“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,”

said his mother, “I will be a mountain climber,

and I will climb to where you are.”

I remember feeling the same tension when Caleb and I were at Disney World with Abby Bette last year. We were contacted by Joshua's adoption attorney while we were driving down to Orlando. We spent the next three days dissecting our budget, trying to figure out how we could possibly swing it. The numbers most definitely did not add up, but we both knew in our hearts that we wanted him.

Each night of our trip, I just laid awake, thinking about the fact that we were on a family vacation, and I had a son clinging to life in a tiny hospital bed, all alone. It didn't seem fair, didn't seem right. I should be with him, not here.

“If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,”

said his mother, “I will be a gardener. And I will find you.”

I'm sure my friend lies awake at night thinking about her little boy in China. Does he have a best friend? Does he like books and playing outside? Is he shy? Is he a picky eater? Did he get enough to eat today? Does he have a favorite color? Does he feel loved? Or does he feel forgotten?

As she tucks her children into bed each night, I know her heart rips a little bit more that across the world, her boy closes his eyes to sleep by himself, alone. She's not there and she can't get to him.

It's how I felt for just those few nights before getting Joshua. When you know your child is out there but you can't get to them... it is a raw pain in your gut, it eats you from the inside out.

As parents, we all would do anything to rescue our children if need be. Ain't no mountain high enough, right?

As adoptive parents, you almost have to shield yourself from letting your mind go to those dark places.

 It is very easy to feel very small.

“If you go flying on a flying trapeze,” said his mother,

“I will be a tightrope walker,

and I will walk across the air to you.”

So we pray. We pray and we wait. We remember that although we feel small, God is big. We feel powerless, so we reflect on His sovereignty. His Word tells us that He is a father to the fatherless; He upholds orphans. He sees each one. He hears each midnight cry. He knows each one by name. He loves each one dearly.

The Great Rescuer comes to us, where we are. All of us, in need of a Savior, He comes to you. He sees you and He hears your midnight cries. You are not alone. You are not forgotten, beloved.

“I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.”

Somewhere in China, a little boy has no idea how his life is about to change. He is about to sleep on a bunk bed in the same room as his older brother. They will probably giggle too loudly at night and get shushed by the little diva across the hall who will be his little sister (younger by one month, twinsies!!). His yard has a trampoline and a swing-set. His Mama will cook his favorite foods and bandage his knee scrapes. His Dad will teach him sports and tell him about a God that saves.

He will laugh and sing and dance and get into trouble sometimes and remind us all that our God delights in us and has not forgotten about us.

“I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you.” John 14:18

*The Runaway Bunny, by Margaret Wise Brown

Waiting

At a family Christmas gathering last year, some cousins Abby Bette's age were painting their fingernails, so she asked me if she could too. Envisioning Grandma's house covered in smeared pink polish, I flippantly told her she can't paint her nails until she was three. 

Well all these months later, she remembered. 

For several weeks leading up to her birthday (August 25), she was telling everybody with ears to hear that she was "turning three and painting her nails." Strangers in the grocery store.... our mailman....people at the swimming pool.... joggers running by our stroller....pretty much everyone in the tri-state area has caught wind about her upcoming nail polish ceremony. It is a big deal.

A few days before her birthday, I took just her to the cosmetics area at Walmart and stood her in front of the nail polish wall for her to pick out her color. She was a little overwhelmed until she spotted a row of sparkle polish, then finally settled on the blue one. 

Blue glitter polish it is, sweet girl. 

The night before her birthday, she was on the couch with me watching Little Einsteins on my ipad, which was sitting on the coffee table about three feet away. We were soooooo comfortable. The episode we were watching went off and you know how Netflix is, you can wait ten seconds or click the box for the next episode to start right up. 

Well, Abs was not content under our blanket all snuggled up to wait the ten seconds. She sat up, threw off the blanket, struggled out of my lap and onto the floor, then tapped for the next episode. 

Watching her impatience made me realize that she has never had to wait on anything. She doesn't really know what commercials are since she watches only PBS or Netflix. She wakes up and her food is magically set out and ready for her. The examples go on and on.

I don't think nail polish before the age of three is harmful at all. But I'm glad I made her wait. I've decided maybe it's good practice. Like building up an immunity of sorts.

As adults, we're really no better than toddlers when it comes to waiting. Promotions at work....finding a spouse....if you're like me, having a baby.... if you're like me, waiting on an adoption list. Again, the examples go on and on. 

Waiting on Abby Bette, well really the concept of Abby Bette, was the biggest challenge of my life. There is so much waiting: background check to come through (six weeks), Home Study completed (two months), Birth Family to choose you out of a huge pile (indefinite). 

I was terrible at waiting; I was the worst ever at it. 

I went through periods of sadness, then anger, then bitterness and jealousy. It's exhausting. 

Scripture tells us many times to wait on the Lord, but what does that really look like in certain situations? I don't have the answer, sorry. But I do believe we can pray for those we know are in a time of wait. 

Here are the last names of several families I know who are currently on an adoption waiting list. If you're reading this, would you please commit to praying for one or all? I'm only including their last name if they have publicly  acknowledged their adoption plans. For my friends who are still keeping their adoption plans to themselves for now or who are in a confidential fostering situation, I'm just including the first initial of their last name. (I know I'm leaving somebody off. Rats.)

Cook Family

Thomas Family

Skaggs Family

A Family

R Family

Bourn Family

E Family

F Family
Taylor Family

Proverbs 3:5-6  Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

Let's pray this verse over these families. Waiting on your children to come home is so hard.  Thank you to all the family and friends who prayed us through. 

Oh, and to finish Abby Bette's finger nail polish story, painting her nails together was one of the most memorable things of my life. She absolutely loved it. We've had to touch them up quite a few times, and every time we get that polish out, she gives me this joyful look that just makes me melt. Making her wait turned a mundane thing into a rite of passage for her. 

I hope doing things like this when she is young helps her build up her patience muscle. I hope when she's all grown up, if she has to wait on something that is big and important to her, she won't turn to anger or bitterness like I did but instead truly trusts in the Lord. 

But for right now, waiting for her blue glitter polish to dry is good enough  :)