Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
A rainy day egg hunt.
In case you hadn't seen the latest news, STL has been POUNDED with rain lately. And tornadoes. Like woah. The egg hunt we were going to go to was moved to a different location so we just decided to keep it at home. We had some candy and last years eggs, so a new event was created!
(a little biased but...) cutest.child.ever.
Russ being not so subtle...
(a little biased but...) cutest.child.ever.
Russ being not so subtle...
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Dear Me,
Today is a good day so I'm writing to make an official note for you to come back to. There's a few things that can only come from me to you (me?) and not from anyone else. So, here you go. You're welcome. And floss, would ya? Geez. It's not exactly difficult.
Okay, let's get straight to it. The main thing is this:
You are not a victim, but a willing participant in this life we've created.
No matter what happens with each opportunity, each possibility, you know you were called to this. Your heart will break, your hopes will rise and fall. Sometimes for selfish reasons, sometimes because those align with what breaks God's heart. But you're in the right place.
Think of what's worse? The alternative. Knowing what you're called to, knowing what you have to offer as a mom but being too fearful to do anything about it. Fearful of a broken heart. Fearful of there not being enough money. Fearful of risk and change.
Nope, you're in the right place. You can do this.
Let go of your timelines and just enjoy this season, you'll never get it back.
Stop looking at other people's stories. They have nothing to do with yours. Yours is hand picked and every single thing is intentional about it. God is always doing more than one thing at a time and it's not your job to try to figure that out, so again, just live in this season. You worked hard to get here and need to live out loud in it. There's nothing missing from it.
There's nothing missing from it.
Now go squeeze that little Mayan, he's getting bigger every day and it's just going to get worse.
Okay, let's get straight to it. The main thing is this:
You are not a victim, but a willing participant in this life we've created.
No matter what happens with each opportunity, each possibility, you know you were called to this. Your heart will break, your hopes will rise and fall. Sometimes for selfish reasons, sometimes because those align with what breaks God's heart. But you're in the right place.
Think of what's worse? The alternative. Knowing what you're called to, knowing what you have to offer as a mom but being too fearful to do anything about it. Fearful of a broken heart. Fearful of there not being enough money. Fearful of risk and change.
Nope, you're in the right place. You can do this.
Let go of your timelines and just enjoy this season, you'll never get it back.
Stop looking at other people's stories. They have nothing to do with yours. Yours is hand picked and every single thing is intentional about it. God is always doing more than one thing at a time and it's not your job to try to figure that out, so again, just live in this season. You worked hard to get here and need to live out loud in it. There's nothing missing from it.
There's nothing missing from it.
Now go squeeze that little Mayan, he's getting bigger every day and it's just going to get worse.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Some men send flowers...
Last week when everything went down, Russ (on business in China) sent me this pic to cheer me up.
It's good to know the Bump-it is an international phenomena.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Red Shoes, Vol 2011
I can't presume you remember my consolation red shoes from this postin 2007, so I'll just link it.
If you're new here, we had run into a record breaking amount of kick-outs from the Guatemalan government on Eliot's case. We were told very clearly (but unofficially) that we had finally been approved and were awaiting the official call "any day now." I went into the city with the girls in hopes of feeling kinda normal for a day. You can read it for yourself but my happy take-away from the day was this pair of red flats:
I remember coming home after this fun day out and thinking, "I'll just check my email real quick before dinner in case they emailed the final approval instead of calling."
That's when I saw it. There was indeed an email but it was the opposite of what we'd been told. We had another kick-out. I was devastated. Like, ugly-cry-can't-breathe-devastated. My flats became a sort of security blanket.
I readily admit I have issues. Especially with clothes. =/
All that to say, welcome to red shoes, 2011.
Yes, I am clinging to Jesus and His promises to cope with all that is going on, I'm just doing it while wearing these.
Speaking of weird coping strategies, you'll be happy to know that the doctor mentioned in this post has been making house calls via generous friends giving of their own stash...
"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his thin mints for his friends." Isn't that how John 15:13 goes? It's a little fuzzy.
If you're new here, we had run into a record breaking amount of kick-outs from the Guatemalan government on Eliot's case. We were told very clearly (but unofficially) that we had finally been approved and were awaiting the official call "any day now." I went into the city with the girls in hopes of feeling kinda normal for a day. You can read it for yourself but my happy take-away from the day was this pair of red flats:
I remember coming home after this fun day out and thinking, "I'll just check my email real quick before dinner in case they emailed the final approval instead of calling."
That's when I saw it. There was indeed an email but it was the opposite of what we'd been told. We had another kick-out. I was devastated. Like, ugly-cry-can't-breathe-devastated. My flats became a sort of security blanket.
I readily admit I have issues. Especially with clothes. =/
All that to say, welcome to red shoes, 2011.
Yes, I am clinging to Jesus and His promises to cope with all that is going on, I'm just doing it while wearing these.
Speaking of weird coping strategies, you'll be happy to know that the doctor mentioned in this post has been making house calls via generous friends giving of their own stash...
"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his thin mints for his friends." Isn't that how John 15:13 goes? It's a little fuzzy.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
I don't do sad.
**Jumbled ramblings ahead:**
I don't know how to mourn this. I never held him. He's not even born yet. He wasn't in my womb. It's not a lost life. Yet there's a nursery full of clean, folded and organized clothes. There's a major shift in how the future looks. This baby, this adoption has consumed my every thought for the last 3 months. The closer it got, the more I trusted it.
I'm sad. Which is a hard place for me. I blame my Dad. He doesn't do sad either. It's his fault I get funnier as life gets harder.
Mornings are hardest. That split second where you have to remind yourself why you don't feel right when you come to consciousness.
I'm thankful I never held him. I'm thankful we only were offered this 3 months ago and not longer. I'm thankful for Eliot. I'm thankful for open communication between the birth mom and us.
Unlike many birth parents in the fostering world, I truly believe this birth mom will be a good mom.
I don't even know what to call this. Failed adoption? Disrupted adoption? I've heard the term "adoption miscarriage" and it makes me want to punch someone for adding drama to a situation that already has it's share.
There are moments where I am fully decided that we'll quit doing this. We're going to quit taking risks, opening ourselves up to "come what may." But I know I don't mean it. We are the Mohrs. This is what we do. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't but it's always a blessing.
Surprisingly (I still don't understand it) I'm not mad at God. I don't think I've even asked him why He did this/allowed this. I'm not angry, I'm not confused, I'm just sad.
The good news? I have a husband who says things in the middle of the downward spiral like, "You, me and Eliot? We're all okay." and then once it's ended? "We have money raised, a completed home study and a nursery full of awesome stuff, we can't let that go to waste..."
I don't know how to mourn this. I never held him. He's not even born yet. He wasn't in my womb. It's not a lost life. Yet there's a nursery full of clean, folded and organized clothes. There's a major shift in how the future looks. This baby, this adoption has consumed my every thought for the last 3 months. The closer it got, the more I trusted it.
I'm sad. Which is a hard place for me. I blame my Dad. He doesn't do sad either. It's his fault I get funnier as life gets harder.
Mornings are hardest. That split second where you have to remind yourself why you don't feel right when you come to consciousness.
I'm thankful I never held him. I'm thankful we only were offered this 3 months ago and not longer. I'm thankful for Eliot. I'm thankful for open communication between the birth mom and us.
Unlike many birth parents in the fostering world, I truly believe this birth mom will be a good mom.
I don't even know what to call this. Failed adoption? Disrupted adoption? I've heard the term "adoption miscarriage" and it makes me want to punch someone for adding drama to a situation that already has it's share.
There are moments where I am fully decided that we'll quit doing this. We're going to quit taking risks, opening ourselves up to "come what may." But I know I don't mean it. We are the Mohrs. This is what we do. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't but it's always a blessing.
Surprisingly (I still don't understand it) I'm not mad at God. I don't think I've even asked him why He did this/allowed this. I'm not angry, I'm not confused, I'm just sad.
The good news? I have a husband who says things in the middle of the downward spiral like, "You, me and Eliot? We're all okay." and then once it's ended? "We have money raised, a completed home study and a nursery full of awesome stuff, we can't let that go to waste..."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
I've started this post over and over. Not sure how best to write about this.
The short version: this adoption is over. We're not getting the baby.
The longer version: the hiccup spun out of control within 48 hours and then it was over. It was a mutual (and amiable) decision between us and the birth mom. It happened Thursday of last week and I've been hiding out ever since.
Lots to process. Lots to grieve.
While the depth of sadness and loss is still revealing itself, God is still good and His character never changes.
The short version: this adoption is over. We're not getting the baby.
The longer version: the hiccup spun out of control within 48 hours and then it was over. It was a mutual (and amiable) decision between us and the birth mom. It happened Thursday of last week and I've been hiding out ever since.
Lots to process. Lots to grieve.
While the depth of sadness and loss is still revealing itself, God is still good and His character never changes.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Hiccup.
We've hit a hiccup in the adoption. I can't go into details but it's a hiccup that could turn into some serious indigestion. Which could then turn into some sort of intestinal issues, I'm pretty sure. Or it could just be a hiccup.
(And this is why I should have paid more attention in lit class when learning about effective analogies.)
And, second verse same as the first, Russ is in another country than us while adoption drama hits the fan.
If you need me, I'll be hiding in a closet with a box (or two)(give or take 5) of girl scout cookies. Probably singing Ace of Base.
(what? you're coping strategies might look different than mine, and that's okay. My new therapist says so.)
(Her name is Dr. Thin Mint if you're looking for one.)
I got a text from a friend this morning that read, "He's got this". As in Him. Which was so handy considering I was at work and blubbering/crying is a totally acceptable form of customer service.
This may screw things up. This may add more financial strain (my fav!). This may add more time away from family and real life. But if I've learned a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. from Guate07, it's that He's got this. It may not look how I want it to right away, but in the end, He's got this, He's got us, He's got this little guy's future tucked safely in his palm.
(And this is why I should have paid more attention in lit class when learning about effective analogies.)
And, second verse same as the first, Russ is in another country than us while adoption drama hits the fan.
If you need me, I'll be hiding in a closet with a box (or two)(give or take 5) of girl scout cookies. Probably singing Ace of Base.
(what? you're coping strategies might look different than mine, and that's okay. My new therapist says so.)
(Her name is Dr. Thin Mint if you're looking for one.)
I got a text from a friend this morning that read, "He's got this". As in Him. Which was so handy considering I was at work and blubbering/crying is a totally acceptable form of customer service.
This may screw things up. This may add more financial strain (my fav!). This may add more time away from family and real life. But if I've learned a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. from Guate07, it's that He's got this. It may not look how I want it to right away, but in the end, He's got this, He's got us, He's got this little guy's future tucked safely in his palm.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The "Chicken game"
Since getting fancy phones (perk w/ Russ' new job) there's been a fresh opportunity for Eliot to hear "no" even more often than before.
Two words: Angry Birds. (E calls it the chicken game?)
Angry birds produces Angry Eliot when told to stop playing. In attempts to not let him become "that kid" we've limited the duration and frequency of his new passion.
However, he and his friend, A (who also loves the game) created their own version. It's now become a Mohr family activity. It started when he and A made towers of pillows and would tell each other which bird they were before crashing into the tower, including sound effects. Here at home we've made some adaptations. Sometimes Eliot is the pig and sometimes he's the bird launcher.
This pic makes me laugh, cute little piggy.
And this will be our next craft...
Two words: Angry Birds. (E calls it the chicken game?)
Angry birds produces Angry Eliot when told to stop playing. In attempts to not let him become "that kid" we've limited the duration and frequency of his new passion.
However, he and his friend, A (who also loves the game) created their own version. It's now become a Mohr family activity. It started when he and A made towers of pillows and would tell each other which bird they were before crashing into the tower, including sound effects. Here at home we've made some adaptations. Sometimes Eliot is the pig and sometimes he's the bird launcher.
This pic makes me laugh, cute little piggy.
And this will be our next craft...
Friday, April 1, 2011
Opening Day...
Opening day in the Mohr house involved a batting helmet, batting gloves and a constant home run derby.
I know this pic is awful quality w/ the light behind him and all, but it was so cute and he just looks so grown up in it, I felt I owed it to future me to post it.
"Home runs" are funny?
The intimidating pitcher wearing a toddler sized glove, of course.
Playing and watching...
It's been so long since I picked up my camera. It felt like a nice mental getaway for me to use it yesterday. I took too many pics of an ordinary moment but it was the little bit of stress relief I needed.