Oh the Bliss!

A couple weekends ago my daughter was in our church's Christmas musical, she was the adorable one. :) Anyway... The first thing she (and every other child to grace a stage in the history of EVER) does when she walks out and takes her place is search. I could see her twinkling eyes squinting in the bright lights trying to find me in the crowd. In the herd of 7-12 year olds it took me all of 2 seconds to find her, but she couldn't see me, so I did what any loving parent would do and I waved like a maniac... no shame, people, no shame... but she never saw me. She sang all the songs, did all the motions and played her part beautifully, but every chance she got I could see her still looking. And the split seconds of disappointment when she really thought I wasn't there? I saw those too. So many people, so many lights, so many distractions, I was RIGHT THERE, but she just couldn't find me. Where WERE you?? She hugged my waist afterward. I was here... I saw the whole thing

Your wife is awesome. AWE. SOME. She works really, really hard. She thinks about a thousand things per minute - and maybe she tells you about too many of them-  but for reals, she's amazing and you need to act on that. Thank her for working. Whether it's in the home, or away from the home, the lady works. My guess is if she's tired, she's legitimately tired because wearing a trillion hats everyday is tiring. You wear a trillion hats too, so lean into that with her, and thank her for working. She is trying... all the time... trying to be what you want, what her kids want, what her friends want, what the world wants... all the while scraping cobwebs off the person she wanted to be and fervently praying that she's the person GOD wants her to be. It's a lot, man, a lot. Recognize the efforts she goes to to be there for you and for the family. Or, maybe she doesn't put forth effort, maybe it's been years since you've felt like she's been there for

I'm going to put your dolls away tonight. I'm going to put your dress up clothes away, too. I'll pick up your puzzle pieces from the unfinished puzzle. I'll grab a glob of Playdough and stick it to all the tiny bits you left on the floor. I'll wash off your paint brushes. I'll stack your blocks. I'll find your shoes and (Lord willing) match your socks. I'll check your grammar and print your papers. I'll scrape the mud out of your cleats and set your uniform out. I'll tape Bible verses to your mirror. I'll write notes in your lunch. I'll bite my lip and rub the back of my neck when that one song plays because it reminds me of when you were tiny. And I'll squeeze your hand in the checkout line when the woman in front of us fumbles with her phone for the eleventh time because her son was going to call at 5:30, and it's 5:37 and she's worried. Clearly the store has no reception. She looked at us, the lady in th

One time I met a lady who was probably one of the coolest ladies I had ever met. She was hilarious, for one thing, and LOVED KIDS, so you know I was a fan right away. When we took Nico to church (Nico was our boy before Gabey...) she didn't bat an eye. She took him in and called him a Fitz and loved him like no other. After he went home with his bio-fam and I was D for DONE she didn't bat an eye at that either.  Certain I would never have another foster-child in our home, I was one day shy of throwing in the towel. No joke, I had lunch with a friend and confided that I would not be fostering again and THE VERY NEXT DAY we got the call for the Gabers (then Tristan), and -obviously- we said yes.  God is funny like that. Back to the lady at church... We took our tiny Gabey to church and this sweet lady didn't bat an eye. She scooped him up, called him a Fitz and loved him like no other. And then, one day, she told me she had been a mom who gave a child up for adoption

"Can you sing to me?" I heard the words as I walked past the boys room, long after I had said goodnight.  "Mom? Can you sing me a few songs?" I leaned my head in... certian I hadn't heard him, the eldest of them all, asking me what I think he was asking me. "I heard you singing to Norah. Can you sing to me? You never sing to me anymore."  He's right. I haven't sung to him in months, possibly years.  I sing all the time around the house! We are known to carry on full length conversations in song, all of us, all the time! But Norah and Gabe, and frequently the older girls, they are the ones I really sing to these days. I thought of a thousands reasons why I shouldn't sing to him tonight, and I almost said no. I almost told him he should be asleep and I'd sing another time. But he would know, and so would I, that another time would never come. And then I pictured me, assuming the answer is no but asking anyw

I've been trying to find words to write for Troy's birthday for a couple weeks now... they are failing me. I think because Troy is so complex, everything about him is deep, and intense, and complicated, yet so, so entirely sweet. Instead of trying so hard to make it sound the right way I'm just going to get it all down - for nostalgia's sake - and hope that A) I don't lose this website like I apparently did for the ENTIRE FIRST YEAR OF HIS LIFE and B) I can adequately describe my radical love for this boy. We went around the table this morning and affirmed Troy, telling him all the reasons we love him, what he means to us - something my token middle child shouldn't have to wait a year to hear. He soaked it up, his cheeks hurt from smiling, he felt loved and wanted and needed in our family! It was so clear to me that he doesn't always feel this way; the price of not being the oldest, or the youngest, or the only boy, or anything significant (by his standard

 We let him use a stove, and an oven. You're welcome future wife of Ben. We also let him use a BBQ. You're welcome future roommates.  We let him ride his bike around the neighborhood.  And we let him ride to the donut store and the grocery store, which is across major streets... but we follow him in our car, because believe it or not we do have some limits. He starts fires, and climbs trees, and stands on roofs,  and whittles.        Surprisingly, brave is not a word that characterizes Ben. He's more determined than brave. He gets his mind set on something and (if Mark and I won't do it for him, because believe me he's asked) he figures out a way to do it on his own. I suppose that  is  a form of bravery, isn't it?  We are happy to have a kid that acts the way kids did 25, 30, 50 years ago. We know the world is a different place, we get it. We do our best to not set him up for extreme danger, but w