Elizabethtown

(Kind of) Wordless Wednesday

2012-02-08T16:11:00.000-05:00

Charlie, your bed is ready and waiting for you...

Point for the Girls' team

2012-02-07T16:54:00.001-05:00

When Henry gets sick, it is a major ordeal. If he gets the slightest bit of snot, saliva,vomit, urine, or blood on him, we must IMMIEDIATELY change ALL clothes and bedlinens. No matter that his underwear,socks, and pants are fine. Never mindthat the offending bodily fluid only got on a tiny corner of onepillowcase. If these items are not changed,there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Then there is also the kerfuffle caused by simply beingupset that he is sick. Not only does heget sick, he then cries about it. Andthen he whines about how the crying from the feeling bad makes his headhurt. And more often than not, thesebouts of lunacy and laundry are experienced between the hours of 2 and 5am.

So imagine my shock when at 8 am, having not heard a peepfrom Gracie’s bedroom all night, I was met with the overwhelming stench ofvomit. Her queen sized bed was litteredwith the stuff. (Here is where I willnot mention that last night we had Jambalaya for dinner. Nor will I mention the utter stupidity thatwas getting a pure white bedspread for a toddler.)

Ahem.

Did she call for us? No.

At my feet, in a little brown ball, hair plastered to herhead in a sweaty mass, was a naked but for her diaper Gracie. She’d removed her vomit covered nightgown andtossed it in the dirty clothes. Shesnagged her giant doggie pinkie and her blankie, and set up shop on the cleanfloor of her bedroom. No need to getMommy to change her sheets. She was fineon her own. She sat up and said, “Isick, Mommy, so I sleep on floor. I allbetter now.”

And the trophy for best sickie goes to Gracie Phillips.

Letter to an almost 5 year old

2012-02-06T23:11:00.000-05:00

Dear Henry,

Of all the almost 5 year old boys in the world, I’d say youare the best. By far. You are kind, funny, smart, quick to makefriends, loving, forgiving, and did I mention loving? You tell me you love me at least 30times. 30 times before you even boundout the door to go to school. If forjust one day, I had a dollar for every time you tell me and your Dad you loveus, we’d be well on our way to bringing Charlie home.

It takes you forever to get dressed in the morning becausebetween each item of clothing you run into our room saying, “Mom, you’re thebest. Give me a hug.”

You have taught Gracie to say “I love you” because you sayit so much. And we get stuck in a roundrobin love fest. “Mom, I love you.” “I love you too, Henry.” “I wub you Mama.” “I love you too, Gracie.” “Gracie, I loveyou.” “I wub you Bruddah.” “Mommy, give me a hug.” And then you tackle me to the ground andGracie jumps on top too.

Sometimes I may seem annoyed that you demand hugs and ZEROKISSES sixty times a day when I’m trying to get dressed, get shoes on yoursister, find my keys, take a casserole out of the oven, research orphanages in China, foldlaundry, put away groceries, paint picture frames, vacuum, put away yourclothes, get out of the shower, put on your bike helmet, and teach you to make your bed, but know this: I will always stoop down to take you in myarms. Even when you are so tall that Ihave to stand on my tippy toes to do so, I will also always steal a kiss. You will never be given the option of ZEROKISSES. Never.

You are my big big boy and I’m proud to call you mine.

P.S. Please stoptalking about Super Mario Brothers all the time. It’s embarrassing. I get it. You like your Christmas presents. And yes, we know you want Mario Kart for your birthday.

I'm not as strong as you think...

2012-02-02T20:44:00.000-05:00

It has been a crazy whirlwind of a week.

We’ve been praying over a particular waiting child. I can’t really divulge many details becauseit is still in the preliminary stages and we won’t even know for a couple ofweeks if we will be accepted. Anotherfamily further along in the process could want him and seeing as that would gethim out of an orphanage faster, that IS what we would be best for him.

But I CAN tell you what I’ve learned about God and myselfand what our new life will look like.

For starters, God is big. Really big. He is not shockedabout the Chinese medical system or how they report diagnosis. And this little boy belongs to Jesus. Whetheror not he belongs to us remains to be seen, but he is seen by our Lord. I’ve been able to research a bit about theorphanage he is in. It is one geared forkids with special needs. It has recentlyundergone a HUGE renovation underwritten by the Christian recording artistSteven Curtis Chapman’s orphan foundation Show Hope. There are two kids per “nanny” and each nannycares for the same two kids each day. There are Disney murals painted on the walls and handmade bed linens andquilts for each crib made by loving donors. The hospital is run by a Christian doctor and her husband. It’s beautiful. I cried as I watched YouTube video afterYouTube video. Little boys and girlsbeing cuddled and sung to by their Chinese aunties.

What joy it brings me to imagine my son being kissed on hislittle nose by these women beneath a mural of Dumbo flying over a train.

I also learned that I am fearful. I’m afraid that my child will be inpain. I’m afraid that I won’t be able tohelp him. I’m afraid that multiplesurgeries may not always help and that his life will be hard. I’m afraid I won’t know the right questionsto ask or what doctors to see. I’mafraid that we won’t be able to raise enough money in time. I’m afraid I’m going to let my little boydown. That he will see me crying becauseI’m just so sad he has to go through this and he will be sad too. That I won’t be able to stick my chin out andgrin.

And these fears led me to guilt. What kind of Mom is afraid? How can I do this? Does this mean that once again I’ve bittenoff more than I can chew? I found myheart pounding out of my chest. I thinkI may have had a twelve hour panic attack yesterday. And Sloan did not share my fears. Which made me think he was an idiot or justnot thinking things out.

Turns out that it is a good thing Sloan wasn’t freaking outas I was doing enough of that for the both of us.

And so it was my first taste of what it must be to be theMom to a child with special needs. Oscillating between fear and faith. Getting whiplash from bungee jumping into a dark pit of fear. Simultaneously screaming my pain at God andclinging to his legs crying, “Lord, Jesus, can’t you see me? Help me? HELP ME!!”

I’ve learned that fear is not contrary to faith. Guilt is. So I refuse to feel guilty for being afraid of scary things. We live in a broken and fallen world. The fact that there are children abandoned instreets, wrapped in carpets, and tossed aside for not looking right should bean indicator of that. The fact that my kid is right now in anorphanage SHOULD break my heart. Thefact that he is hurting SHOULD hurt me. Iwill grant myself grace and patience.

And I’ve learned that sojourning in this broken world alongsideme are countless people who are doctors and nurses who care about our boy. Countless people who desire to carry ourburdens alongside us. Countless peoplewho will, when I cannot walk to Jesus, are willing to carry me to Him. And it’s okay if I’m white knuckled on thatlitter.

So join me in this frightening process of being human. I will most certainly need you to carry me.

This world is not my home. Nor is it my kids’ home. So in mypain, I long for when I can say “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among thepeople, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himselfwill be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes.There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old orderof things has passed away.” Rev. 21:3-4.

In Memorium

2012-01-30T14:30:00.000-05:00

My dear friend E went to be with Jesus last week.

Normally I roll my eyes when I read in obits that someone went "home to the Lord" or to "be with Jesus" or is "resting safely in Abraham's bosom." (OK, the last one I also cringe because someone typed bosom. And apparently I'm twelve and think that's a funny word. Bosom.) But with E, it's just not right to say she merely died. If you'd ever been blessed to meet E, you would know that despite the fact she was pushing 80, she was very much alive. I just can't think of her as anything other than causing a ruckus while simultaneously bragging about God. So hear me when I say that when I write E went to be with Jesus it is not a teary-eyed euphemism. It is fact. She is with Jesus. And they are both probably laughing.

E was one heck of a woman. When I first met her 5 years ago in my bible study group, my first thought was "Oh, Gosh. Who is this woman?" I probably rolled my eyes as she pulled out a notecard of all the people she was praying for. She was loud. A yankee. Italian. Catholic. But the more I grew to know and love her, I found myself asking, "Oh? Gosh! Who.is.this.woman?"

When I grow up, I want to be like E. She was more than a tad irreverent. She was forever surrounding herself with thosein need, sharing the wisdom God gave her through her struggles of parenting a childwith brain injuries. She prayed methrough infertility. She prayed usthrough the adoption of our daughter whom she claimed as her own. Hersweet Grace. Her pretty Grace. She lovedintensely. She talked about her husband of 60 yearslike a high school girl in love with the prom king. The vulnerability, humor, and grace with which sheparented B has emboldened me to pursue a special needs adoption. E taught me I don’t need a halo to lovesomeone the world deems unloveable—I just need Jesus. And maybe a glass of wine. (Or three.)

So my beloved E, you will be missed on this side of heaven. I look forward to sharing eternity with you. In the mean time, please love on our Charlie. Protect him and cuddle him and tell him we are on our way.

Stitches and Timelines and Fee Schedules, Oh My!

2012-01-27T07:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a pretty big day.

Gracie got her first set of stitches. She took a header into a coffee table. If you know Gracie, this isn't shocking as she doesn't walk anywhere. She runs and jumps at all times. All times.

Post stitches we asked her what she wantedfor dinner. She said “Chocolate and Dip”. So we went to Cheeburger Cheeburger and lether have a milkshake for dinner and didn’t even comment when she didn’t eat thefries but sucked down an entire ramekin full of ketchup. According to the Government, ketchup is avegetable, so my awesome Mommy status remains intact.

Additionally, it was our first of five total interviews forour home study. Once again I wasreminded at how much I adore our agency and our case worker. Truthfully, because I was friends with ourcase worker prior to our adoption, I’ve been worried that it has hindered ouradoption process. (Read: I feel like Ican’t call and yell at her because she’s not at my beck and call nor send angryemails.) But now I’m seeing this desireto act lovingly towards C as a good thing. That said, once our homestudy is complete, we will be transferred to aChina Special Needs Waiting Child Dossier specialist and C tells me I canhaggle that person to my heart’s content.

We were given a more definitive time line (well, sort of…internationaladoption is rather unpredictable) and a more detailed fee schedule. (BONUS!!)

This is basically what it boils down to…our last home studyhome visit is February 16^th, therefore our homestudy will becompleted no later than March 16^th. (AKA when a little over $7,000 is due.)

From there we will complete our dossier that goes toChina. This will be completed and loggedin no later than May 16^th. (But possibly could be sometime in April!!)

Then after this we wait to receive a referral. There’s really no way to predict this as the China program siphonsall of their children through a single portal that is only updated and open toagencies one day a month. There are alsoa handful of children that are Bethany specific because they live in Bethanyrun orphanages and hospitals. Thesechildren are available for referral anytime.

Because we are open to many things (don’t worry—I’ve alreadygot a half written post about that. Spoiler alert! It includes ascene in which Sloan screams about seeing a dude’s junk.), it stands to reasonthat our first referral will come quickly. When we receive a referral, we will get both a photo and our referral’smedical records. China is relativelysafe in terms of medical records. Somecountries pad their kids’ files as orphanages get paid by the kid and themalady. Not so with China. China genuinely wants to have their childrenadopted, but because our medical systems are so different, there is a marginfor error. But anyway, we’ll get our “takewith a grain of salt and tequila back” medical records and will meet with ourmedical team to decide if we desire to move ahead with the referral. WE HAVE 48 HOURS TO DECIDE.

Our special needs openness form is being reviewed presentlyby the national China team and after we have a conference call with them todiscuss the reality of what they are seeing in China and the needs that arecommon amongst little boys, we will have a clearer picture of our waittime. Also, at this time, they will beaware of our file and begin to throw our hat in the ring for possible referrals.

Anywhoozie, after our dossier is logged in by China, and ourreferral locked in, we will travel to China to get Charlie in 6-12 weeks.

Wait, what?

If you are paying attention…that means it is possibly thatat the earliest we could be in China in August?

Wait, what?

Ahem.

Honestly, I am praying that we are approved for travelsooner rather than later, because I’m really fearful that we will actually bescheduled to travel over Christmas. AndI reject that possibility. I’m cool withturning 35 in China around Thanksgiving. Heck, it’d be most convienient if we went in August so I didn’t have toworry about getting the kids to school.

Also, let it be noted that when it is all said and done…thisadoption will cost…

DRUM ROLL PLEASE….

Between $26,704-$37,424. The range is because there are variables based on dollar values inChina, travel prices, costs of our medical copays and the like, and how much wespend on food and gifts in China (so let’s assume we will be in the high end.) We will also, as we get closer to travelling, let y’all know our airline and folks who have frequent flyer points on thatairline can donate them to our cause, which will hopefully take a big chunk outof that number. I’m hoping to keep itaround 30. (Which is on par with howmuch we’ve spent previously to receive our children. Infertility ain’t cheap, but it does force oneto evaluate one’s priorities.)

GASP. I’m trying toremember that God brought us here and will continue to be faithful in providingfor us. There are several grants andloans we can apply for once our homestudy is complete. We will be having a yard sale in June andthat will bring in probably $2000 or so.

So while you are praying for God to tell someone to approveour grant applications and possibly just give us large sums of money, pleasecould you also add to that my speaking gig this afternoon? I will be talking to waiting adoptive families abouttransracial adoption and grieving an adoption that falls through. Even though I’m really too busy to do it, Iwill always agree to these gigs. Becausenothing helps a frazzled heart than retelling once again about the goodness ofGod to our family. Of his faithfulness tosend Grace to heal our broken hearts and empty arms.

Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.

Why We Are Choosing Special Needs

2012-01-24T20:45:00.000-05:00

I keep getting asked by folks why we are choosing to adoptboth internationally and a child with special needs. I have a couple answers to that.

First, I should justbe honest with you and say, I don’t know. We just want to obey God. We areconfident that he is leading us to adopt an Asian child with specialneeds. We figure that will be easier todo to if we adopt a child from China and request that he has specialneeds. It’s just a hunch, but there areprobably more Asians in China than in America.

And the need is great. With China’s one child policy, little boys with imperfections as minoras birthmarks and as profound as Fetal Alcohol Sydrome are literally abandonedin the streets. Is there a more specialneed than to not be left an orphan?

Also, I’ve come to realize I have a pretty high thresholdfor weird. Things that would driveothers batty make me feel comfortable. Speech delay? Been there. Done that. Got the best speech therapist in my county on speed dial. Born addicted to drugs? Dude, I literally give speeches aboutthat. Infectious Disease? They already know me at MCV. Missing a limb? I’m all over it. Deaf child? I’m friends with a woman who used to teach ASL at the collegelevel. Autism? I’ve got friends who are already giving meinformation.

Don’t believe I’m being glib about this. I know special needs are profound gamechangers. I’ve cried alongside friends over the heartachestheir children must bear. I know it willbe hard. I know it will hurt.

By being friends with some women who have children withspecial needs, I’ve noticed a couple of things. Having a kid who has weekly doctor’s appointments or physical therapysessions is simultaneously a heartache and a joy. It is both a huge deal that changeseverything and also just another thing you have to figure out. My son will be my son and his needs will justbe his needs. And we will meet them asGod provides. We will struggle withmaking sure that Charlie doesn’t get all our energy and affection. We will struggle with Henry and Gracelearning that they may need to have fewer thingsbecause of Charlie. We will struggle torelearn what our family’s “normal” looks like.

There’s also a selfish part of this. I have a friend who has a son withPrader-Willi syndrome. You’ve probablynever heard of that. It’s rare. And it is a difficult and complicateddiagnoses. But my friend is also just aregular Mom. Really. She’s awesome and I love her, but like mostof us, she doesn’t always get to bathe everyday, her house only gets reallycleaned before company comes over, and, at any given moment, she probably has foodstuck to her shirt. She doesn’t havewings or a halo. But here’s the thing—shelooks more like Jesus than anyone I know. She is an advocate—at times knowing more about her son’s diagnoses thanpediatricians. She is a cheerleader, ateacher, a comforter, a Mommy. The pain she bears for the sake of her son enables her to see many things rightly. She doesn't sweat the small stuff, because frankly, she just doesn't have time. And Iwant that. I want a family that reflects the goodness ofGod. The end.

I want my family to be aware of its need for Jesus. I want us to never get so self-sufficientthat we forget who is the Great Provider. I want for all of my kids to know what real love looks like—a love thatdoesn’t count the cost of suffering, a love that chooses to be uncomfortablefor the sake of another, a love that values joy over happiness, redemption overease, reconciliation over smoothness, grace over rightness, resurrection overcomplacency.

And, there’s also this:

When I was lost, broken, spiritually paralyzed, and anenemy, Jesus came for me. He left thecomforts of heaven and came to the chaos. For me. And he was not content tojust forgive. He was not content to justmake me right before the Father. No, Headopted me. He gave me a family. He gave me an inheritance. Andthere’s nothing like the surety of love to set you free from all your fears.

We can do this.

Winged Feet Fundraising Opportunity

2012-01-23T14:34:00.000-05:00

My awesome friend Kristen Stewart (no, not THAT Kristen Stewart) is a graphic designer, photographer, writer, reader, Jesus lovin' hipster Mom birthing babies in bathtubs, Tarheel superwoman has generously offered to donate 50% of all sales from her Etsy Shop Winged Feet from today, Monday January 23rd until the end of the month. No need to put in a promo code, no need to tell her you know me. Just shop and receive some of the cutest printables around. This is really a great deal and one I would love if you would tweet about or link to your wall on facebook. Even if you don't buy, that's a simple way to help in a fundraiser that doesn't find me hunched over my dining room table with a glue gun at 2 am.

If the whole promotion weren't about raising money for our adoption, here is what I would buy.

Family rules which I would get in gray and hang in our upstairs hall between the kids' rooms.

I'd get a Virginia one with the heart in Richmond for Henry with his birthday. A Virginia one with the heart in Charlottesville for Gracie. And a red and yellow China one with the heart in whatever province he is born in for Charlie.

And I would get this for Charlie's baptism invitation.

(Let's briefly pretend that I haven't already discussed the menu with Sloan and that Sloan did not roll his eyes at me.)

My Friend Tracy is Awesome...Really Awesome

2012-01-19T20:04:00.000-05:00

Remember my awesome friend Tracy who guest posted awhileago? I wanted to follow up with anupdate regarding the abundance of generosity shown by her and many others.

This past Sunday, about a dozen of my friends came over forsome bubbly and snacks and for some sweet time together for my 31 Party andAdoption Fundraiser. I shared a bitabout our adoption process, the huge need for adoption of special needs littleboys in China, the associated costs and also fielded general questions aboutorphan care and adoption. Then my friendTracy, the 31 consultant who is also a Foster mom, did her schpeal.

We had a blast. Welearned which friend of mine you should go to if ever you need a tampon becauseshe basically stores them in a 31 duffle bag in her car. Every single bag we looked at, she remarked, “Ooooh,that’d be great for tampons.” Never mindit was a rolling suitcase. This is why Ilove her and am determined to get to know her better. I mean, sense the surgery and all, that hasn’treally been a need of mine (can I get an AMEN!), but I just love someone whocan talk about “ladytown” at the drop of a hat. (Ladytown being another term we learned at the party…)

Anywhoozie, the party was a big success! Between the folks who ordered online and cameto the party, it was Tracy’s BIGGEST PARTY EVER. She sold over $1400 worth of purses, coolers,stationary, and luggage. I earned closeto $300 worth of free bags which I will get to auction off for The Plum Panda. WOOT! (So if you missed the sale, you may be ableto score something cute for less than retail! I ordered some of the best sellers for my freebies. So make sure to like The Plum Panda onFacebook and check for updates to the Plum Panda Blog in the coming weeks.)

Additionally, Tracy donated to our adoptionfund 100% of her commission. 100%. She did all this work and prep simply becauseshe loves me, our family, and our little Charlie. How much did we raise?

DRUM ROLL PLEASE…….

$365.

Folks, that’s a lot of money. 17 people in 2 states bought items to help usbring our boy home. I am overwhelmed atthe generosity of people. (So if youlive in the Richmond area, I’d love it if you would consider hosting a 31 partyfor her where she can actually make some money.)

Additionally, I set up my Plum Panda goods and sold apicture frame, a necklace, ALL of my hair clippies, and have a couple specialorders already placed. At the end of theday, between Plum Panda and Tracy’s generosity, our adoption fund just grew byabout $550.

My friends are awesome. God is awesome. And He is doingsomething pretty incredible right here before my eyes. Thank you to everyone who contributed. It will be such a treat to one day share withmy son all the folks whom God used to bring him to us. They say it takes a village to raise achild. Sometimes, it takes a village to give a child a family.

He Loves Me

2012-01-17T15:59:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I am so overcome with love for my kids that I MUSTswoop in and get their attention. Ikneel down, take one of their tiny faces in my hands, put my nose to their noseand say, “I love you. I’m glad you aremine.” Then I kiss them on the forehead and send them on their way, possiblywith a gentle tap on the rump. Mostly,this is met with Gracie going limp in an attempt to wriggle away or Henry tryingto avoid my gaze by rolling his eyes back into his head.

This morning, my friends, Jesus took my face into hisscarred hands, and gently whispered to me, “I love you. I’m glad you are mine.”

Today was my first morning back for the semester at my women’sbible study. And we have a new woman inour group. This woman…

wait for it…

waitfor it…

has a special needs son adopted from China. As she sat with her boy cuddledup in her lap on Orphan Sunday in our Fellowship Hall, God used this woman to turn Sloan’sheart to desire a special needs son from China. I knew who she was and had, of course,stalked her and “friended” her on Facebook (I may have a problem, I know), but nowI get to KNOW her. To be a sister to herand she to me. To learn from her how topray for our Charlie and for our hearts.

And if that is not enough to show you how precious my littlefamily is to Jesus, her son will soon be 4 and guess what he just loves to playwith? Trains. Like he loves trains so much we may have sungthe Thomas theme song together. Oh, and didI mention she is also a doctor and has offered to help us sort out all thespecial needs? Yeah, now Jesus isbasically starring in a De Beers commercial with me. I know. I know. I’m trying not to beembarrassed about it…

Sometimes God’s love is like a blinding light and strikesyou down. Sometimes it’s a slap to theface to knock some sense into you. Sometimes it hurts like the cauterization of a wound that can't heal on its own. Sometimes it is a quiet hush of song. But sometimes, it’s so dear and tender and personal that if I close myeyes, I can still feel His nose on mine.

A Real MLK conversation

2012-01-16T17:20:00.000-05:00

I feel sort of bad that I didn't throw a big party for MLK day. Please don't think it is because I ignored the enormity of Dr. King's heart, or his willingness to speak out against hate. I dressed Gracie in her birthday gift overalls, because I understand that even the legality of our family is a gift that is due to his work and the civil rights activists who came behind him.

It's just that, well, you see, Dr. King had this dream where little brown girls could grab the hands of little white boys and walk as brother and sister and mainly that has looked a lot like WWF wrestling as of late in my family room.

We did have a play date with our friends Jacob and Jeremiah who are originally from Ethiopia and we ate Oreos as a MLK treat. I think you'll appreciate the humor in the fact that the children adopted from Ethiopia told this white woman her bathroom was dirty and they almost didn't want to use it. So they are totally American now. And no, that's not dirt. The seat is just chipped and we are cheap.

We watched the "I Have a Dream" speech this afternoon and it was not as deep or profound for my children as I'd hoped it would be. Gracie was chanting "Dabba Dabba? I want Dabba Dabba!!"

It seems that the masses of people on the mall are no comparison to DJ Lance Rock and Biz Marquee's Beat of the Day. Please know that when I hear Dr. King say With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood, I am moved to tears. And that when I hear those cracked out Gabba trees sing about sharing my ears bleed and I want to stab my eyes with a fork.

Also, Henry thinks the speech is too long to watch without snacks. He considers going twelve minutes without a bag of goldfish as epic suffering. Henry just cannot wrap his brain around the sufferings of injustice Dr. King withstood. He doesn't have a compartment in his brain into which to place racism. I've tried to explain it and he. just. doesn't. get. it. The conversation went something like this...

Me: So do you know why we celebrate King Day?
Henry: Because we don't have school.
Me: Yes. You don't have school because it is Martin Luther King, Jr. day.
Henry: Yes. That's right. But I like school.
Me: I'm glad you like school. But we celebrate the work of a man named Dr. King today because he spoke out against mean people.
Henry: I don't like mean people.
Me: Yes. Me either.
Henry: Why were the people mean?
Me: Well, there were laws that were mean to people with brown skin.
Henry: Gracie has brown skin.
Me: Yes. And there were people with pink skin who were mean to the people with brown skin and the people with pink skin were selfish and greedy and hurtful.

Henry: I have pink skin!
Me: Yes. You do have pink skin.
Henry: But I'm only mean to Gracie when she hits me. And she never shares her toys with me. And sometimes she sits on my head and screams, "I'm a hat! I'm a hat!" and I don't like that.
Me: (thinking, I got nothin') Uhhhhh....
Henry: You have pink skin too.
Me: Yes, I have pink skin too. We say that people with pink skin are white and people with brown skin are black.
Henry: But we're pink, not white. And Gracie is brown, not black. And I think you shouldn't be mean to people or be greedy. That's not sharing or showing the love of Jesus.
Me: No, no. You're right. But, back to Martin Luther King, Jr.
Henry: Junior? Like the asparagus? You know I like Veggietales. Pistachio is my favorite. We got that CD at Chick-fil-a. Did you know I like Chicken and french fries?
Me: Yes, I know you like chicken and french fries. And believe me, I know you like to listen to Pisctachio. But there were these white people...
Henry: BUT NO ONE IS WHITE!!! MY SKIN IS PINK!! And maybe a little brown. And I don't get what this has to do with Veggietales.
Me: Nothing. It has nothing to do with Veggietales. Except the Veggietales love Jesus and so did Martin Luther King, Jr. So anyway, there were these pink people who did mean things to the brown people and they wanted to keep the brown people away from the pink people.
Henry: Mommy, you are not making any sense. Why do the pink people care about where the brown people are? Are the brown people taking the pink people's toys without asking? Because that makes me mad when Gracie does that and she's brown and I'm pink. But I don't do mean things to her...okay, well, sometimes I yell at her and then push her.
Me: Henry, that's not what I'm talking about at all. Martin Luther King day sort of has to do with sharing and all, but really I just want you to know that God used Martin Luther King to speak out against sin.
Henry: Sin is bad. Did you know Jesus died for my sins?
Me: Yes. I know that.
Henry: On the cross. It hurt. I think he died for the pink people and the brown people. He loves everybody. Even you, Mommy.
Me: Thank you. Sooooo....do you want to watch another Martin Luther King, Jr. speech? Or maybe I could read this board book about him?
Henry: No thank you. I'd like to watch Yo Gabba Gabba. DJ Lance is a brown guy. And Roby is green. And foofa is pink like me.
Me: Yes, Henry. She is pink. Just. Like. You.

MLK day fail.

Adoption Update

2012-01-15T21:05:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delayed posting. I've basically been running some type of sweat shop, crafting non-stop. I may or may not have roped Henry into the workforce, telling him he is helping bring his little brother home. So every afternoon when Gracie goes down for a nap he asks, "Can I help you make things to bring Charlie home?" Mainly, he presses the power switch for the heat gun on and off. He's a boy, so he likes buttons...

Anywhoozie, we have the interviews scheduled. The first in a couple of weeks, and then a week full of them the week of Valentine's Day. Babysitters are lined up!

Why the wait?

Well, remember how I talked about that stupid Minor in Posession ticket I got the first day of college? Yeah, well, turns out it did put a chink in the chain that added time. I had to get a clearance letter from the police saying that I did not have a criminal record.

Also, note to those who may want to adopt in the future. If you bust your hump getting your paper work done before Christmas, realize that basically everyone on the planet takes off work between Christmas and New Year's, so there will be fewer people to process your files. Also, since you have to get clearance from every state you've ever lived in since you were 18, maybe not move around so much. Or marry someone who has lived in 7 different states since graduating high school.

I've been having to relearn patience. In a big way. I keep reminding myself that yes, waiting is a bear. But I wait in a nice home in a country that is free. My son waits in an orphanage in a country under the thumb of Communism. Does he have nannies who love him? Who take notice if his forehead is warm? Who sing to him so he eats all of his meal that I probably can't even pronounce? Does he have adequate medical care or is he simply one of many orphaned little boys, abandoned because when you're only allowed one child, less than perfect boys are left in stairwells and gates and hospitals in the hopes of getting it perfect the next time around? Is he cold? Is he too hot? Does he know he has an older brother who prays for him every night and has even starting talking about all the trains he will "let" you play with? I want to yell loud enough to China, "He's not an orphan! He is my son!"

Oh, Charlie. We wait. We pray. We cry. We pray some more. We adore you and we are one day closer.

A Real Conversation

2012-01-10T15:30:00.000-05:00

Clearly, my son is not also reading the children's version of 7. Or making any plans to give up HFCS anytime soon...

Henry: You know what, Mom?
Me: No. What?
Henry: I like cupcakes.
Me: You do? I did not know that.
Henry: My favorite thing about cupcakes is eating them.
Me: That makes sense.
Henry: They are a good food to have at parties.
Me: Yes. You are right. Cupcakes are good to have at parties.
Henry: Chocolate cupcakes are my favorite. With chocolate icing. But, you know, sometimes I have to eat cupcakes that aren't my favorite. Sometimes I have to eat yellow cupcakes with white icing.
Me: I'm pretty sure you don't HAVE to eat the cupcakes.
Henry: Yes I do. If there are cupcakes there, I have to eat them.
Me: I understand the logic, but again, you don't have to eat the yellow cupcakes if you don't want them.
Henry: YES I DO!!!
Me: Okay. Okay. You can eat the yellow cupcakes even though they aren't your favorite.
Henry: Wait. a. minute. We have cupcakes? Where are the cupcakes?
Me: We don't have any cupcakes.
Henry: BUT YOU SAID I COULD EAT THE YELLOW CUPCAKES!!!
Me: If I let you play with your Leapad will you stop talking about the cupcakes we do not have?
Henry: Yes!

(Fifteen minutes later, screaming, because he likes to wear headphones while he plays with his Leapad)

Henry (to no one in particular): I BET IF I ATE THREE CUPCAKES I WOULD GET SICK.

Fridge Food

2012-01-06T16:41:00.000-05:00

Turns out, a lot of the restaurants I frequent are fast food. I was thinking fast food would mean "No drive-thrus." But my version of the council made a judgment that if there was no waitress, it was fast food. Restaurants that our are typical go-tos that now don't foot the bill are McAlister's, Jimmy John's, Qdoba, Panera, and this barbeque place called "Q". So when Sloan came downstairs after a morning of work yesterday and offered to take the whole family out to get BBQ, I died a little inside. Which tells me I am one of the four most spoiled people on the planet. The other three being the folks who live with me. I went to the refrigerator to look at the "fridge food" I could eat for lunch.

For me, eating "fridge food" is something for, well, I can't really type this without feeling horrible, but "fridge food" is for other people. Not for me. Because typically, what is in my fridge is the following--Dora yogurts, cheese sticks, a rotting onion, a fogotten bag of salad best sold by two weeks ago, leftovers from that time I attempted from scratch chicken cordon bleu (epic fail), and a baggie of turkey pepperoni. Oh, and six containers of reduced fat Sour Cream, because apparently I'm incapable of going to the grocery store without buying sour cream. It's no big shock I don't find that appetizing.

Then it occurred to me that I was, in fact, the person who purchased said products that went into the fridge. That as an adult, I could fill that fridge up with whatever I wanted, so long as it didn't contain High Fructose Corn Syrup. That maybe if I bought yummy things to top that bag of salad, it wouldn't have turned into brown water. (Briefly I thought about buying an actual head of lettuce and chopping it up. Baby steps, folks.)

I know some of you people have known about this adulthood thing for awhile. Adulthood doesn't come naturally to me. I'm still flabergasted that I'm old enough to have two kids, much less to have been out of high school for over 15 years. I mean, I still count 8 am as waking up at the butt crack of dawn. Last night I slept in a Care Bears Tshirt circa 1998.

So this morning, at the grocery store, I bought real adult food. And for lunch, I made an adult salad. I know my friend who is doing 7 who has actually reduced her intake to 7 foods will see this as extravagant. I see this as my way of getting Pita Delite without having to drive to Greensboro. So glad Gracie decided to toss in a few cans of sliced black olives by surprise. And it'd be very anti-7 to waste them...

7

2012-01-04T14:56:00.000-05:00

It is no secret that I stalk Jen Hatmaker. I read her blog, her books, we’re facebookfriends and I follow her on twitter. Icount the fact that she has responded to my emails twice and once to a commentI tweeted to mean that it is not unrequited love. Add to that the fact that my bestie Mollieactually knows her, goes to her church, and may or may not have promised tosnip a locket of her hair for me, and it is perfectly obvious that it’s a very deep relationship. In my mind. I’m certain that if there were not miles between Austin and Richmond, Iwould frighten Jen. Little does she knowthat there are plans for a girls weekend in Maryland to see her in theworks. Bwawahahah…..

Anywho. Nowthat we’ve got THAT creepy confession out of the way, I have to take a beat totalk about her new book 7. It is titled “7”because she identifies the book as “an experimental mutiny against excess” in 7areas—clothes, shopping, waste, food, possessions, media, and stress. So she, and a group of women she calls “TheCouncil”, embark upon this experiment in decrease with the desire that as theyunplug from consumer culture, they’ll be more apt to hear God and love hispeople.

In the introduction she writes how opening up herhome to Hurricane Katrina victims led to her seeing herself in a newlight. She was rich. Despite being awriter married to a pastor, she was abundantly rich. She writes, “…I was so blinded I didn’t even know we were rich.

How can I besocially responsible if unaware that I reside in the top percentage of wealthin the world? (You probably do too: Make $35,000 a year? Top 4 percent. $50,000? Top 1 percent.) Excess has impaired perspective in America;we are the richest people on earth, praying to get richer. We’re tangled in unmanageable debt whilefeeding the machine, because we feel entitled to more. What does it communicate when half the globalpopulation lives on less than $2 a day, and we can’t manage a fulfilling lifeon twenty-five times that amount? Fiftytimes that amount?

It says wehave too much, and it is ruining us.”

GULP. Convicted? Yeah. Join the club.

Speaking of clubs (bonus points for the wickedsmooth segue!), I am a member of a facebook book club discussing thisbook. It was put together by my budsMollie and it is full of randoms from all over. (Ok, mainly randoms that Mollie knows.)

The first chapter Jen tackles food. For onemonth, she simplifies her diet down to 7 foods. She considers nutrition and settles upon chicken, eggs, whole-wheatbread, sweet potatoes, spinach, avocadoes, and apples. But mainly for the month she writes aboutmissing coffee and the large amounts of repentance this endeavor is drawing herinto. It should also be noted she.is.hilarious. MAYBE even funnier than me. (Which I didn’t even know was humanlypossible. Too bad there’s not a chapteron humility…)

In my book club group, we started off lamenting thegiving up of things. And talking aboutour various issues with food. I’ve yetto meet a woman who has a completely healthy relationship with food, so thislimiting of food was a significant thorn in people’s side. Andfor good reason. But I think the wholepoint of reducing food had nothing to do with control, or weight loss, orhealth, but with providing Jen with a physical and very tangible thing that woulddaily remind her of her need for Jesus and bring to mind all the ways she triesto avoid feeling that need. Her mantra wasless Jen, more Jesus.

While reading the chapter, I was so on board withlimiting myself to 7 foods. I even likedher choices and was fully prepared to spend 20 minutes a day concocting some type ofsweet potato-cooked apple hash to spread on my inedible homemade wheatbread. (Ya know, cause I just ADORE cooking.) But then I went to sleep and thenext morning woke up realizing that if I didn’t have a Diet Dr. Pepper STAT Imight cut somebody. (Which, yes, is theENTIRE freaking point of the exercise. Really.)But I also know me and the only thing I like about keeping rules is being smugabout keeping rules. The temptation ofself-righteousness was too great for me. And if my prayer really is less EJ, more Jesus, pretending giving upcaffeine is my salvation is counterproductive.

So for the next month, I have chosen to forego fastfood, anything containing High Fructose Corn Syrup, and to eat leftovers untilthey are gone. It is forcing me to slowdown, think ahead, cook appropriate portion sizes, and keep up with my dangedgrocery list so that I have foods I can pack to take with me places. Basically, it is causing me to live moreintentionally. To choose what it bestover what is easiest. To consider that leftoverfood in my fridge is not something to be endured but a privilege. These are small things, really. But already I feel like I’ve decided tobecome Amish. It’s gonna be hell whenshe writes about media use.

However, even this small cutback to make room forthe Holy Spirit to work in me has not been without affect.

Yesterday I chose a sit down restaurant when fastfood really would have been a lot easier. And what do you know? I stretchedthe meal into two with leftovers and my children preferred sitting at a tableto eat food rather than having French fries thrown at them while barreling down288 at 65 mph.

Last night I discussed how we needed to eat fordinner all of the things in the refrigerator that would go bad soon if we didn’teat them. It was a hodge podge of delimeat, greek yogurt, and bins full of vegetables from dinners past. I chatted with Henry how some folks didn’thave food, that Daddy worked hard toprovide us food and that food was a gift from God. Henry’s response preached to me LOUDLY.

“Well, Mom, I don’t wanna waste gifts. So how ‘boutwhen I’m done with my 4 no thank you bites of broccoli I eat ALL of theleftover peas?”

If that is not God at work in my family, then I don’tknow what is.

What 2011 Taught Me

2012-01-02T12:05:00.000-05:00

So you see, I really suck at resolutions.

I suck at both the making them and thekeeping them. The only thing I reallyexcel at in regards to resolutions is the feeling guilty about breakingthem. For example, some part of me wouldlike to resolve to cook a healthy gourmet-esque meal for my family at least 5xa week. But what this would reallyamount to would be either fretting because I forgot my recipe and list when Iwas in the grocery store. Therefore, I’dhave all of the wrong ingredients and my gourmet attempt at low fat chickenlinguini alfredo would end up being grilled chicken with a side of Pene in sometype of melted parmesan rue. Oh, andthis poor attempt would also go untouched by 50% of my family. So it would also be an exercise in how muchfood can we throw away. Which would thenreduce me to a puddle in the kitchen, crying for the starving peoples of Chinaand Ethiopia, cursing myself for being irresponsible and the worst mother everbecause my daughter mainly eats carbs and condiments, and yelling at my 4 yearold and 2 year old because they are so spoiled and entitled and then I’dprobably throw in some yelling at Sloan just for good measure. And then after said freaking out wascomplete, I’d spend an entire evening and perhaps several blog posts writingabout what I really need for Jesus to do in my life is make me moreorganized. Because another thing I excelin is wrapping up my sins and weaknesses in pretty Spiritual wrapping paper sothat I don’t have to repent of them. Imay even challenge ~~my husband~~ you that it is ~~his~~ you’re Christian duty tosimply love me the way I am. Which, tosome degree IS true. But you see, I’dspend all my time feeling guilty and yucky and irresponsible about the dangedlist and maybe thirty seconds feeling convicted for the snapping at my kids andthe hurling of curse words at my husband. And the ability to keep up with a list has absolutely zero to do withwho I am and was created to be and thenI’d need to repent of confusing my ability to keep up with things as mysalvation.

But, it is the NewYear and all. I do feel obligated to, atthe very least, reflect upon the lessons God has taught me this year. So I’m not going to resolve to do anythingnew but I will pray to remember lessons learned. And here they are, in no particular order.

1. Sloantravels a lot but that does not mean I need to be with him 100% of the timewhen he is home. It will do us both alot of good if while he is home I leave the house without the children and do scandalousthings like grocery shop or grab coffee with a friend. Or simply be in a different room than him andnot glued to him like some desperate middle schooler. Also, it is difficult to get any houseworkdone as Siamese spouse twins. If this “break time” does not occur, I willinevitably go crazy because the house will be craptastic and instead of simplysaying, “You know, I could really go for some alone time right now”, I’ll endup saying something like “Oh my gosh, I don’t even want to look at you rightnow. I hate your stupid face and yourGamecock hat. I don’t want to watchfootball and for the love of Pete will you please just go somewhere else? I don’t really care where, just get the effout of my line of sight or I’m gonna cut somebody.” (You know, hypothetically I might saysomething like that.)

2. Henry is the slowest person on the planet. I need to remember that he is 4. And that God is using him to teach mepatience. When it takes him 30 minutesto dress himself because he keeps getting distracted by his train table,remember that I sometimes yell at him “Come on, Henry, focus! Put down the trains and put on your socks!”while standing in my jeans and bra on my Ipad because apparently I can’t getdressed without simultaneously updating my Facebook status.

3. Gracie is just.like.me. She does not respond kindly to being told todo something. By default, she will rebel. But if I simply ask her, 9 times out of 10she will comply. So again, I need to bepatient. She desires to please thosearound her, but she wants to do it on her own terms. I need to love her even though I’m prettysure the phrase “I do it! I do it!” willbe the death of me.

4. Sometimes God asks me to turn on a dime and makea quick decision. But if I’m frettingover this decision or feeling desperate or cornered, then chances are it is notGod pressing in on me. God’s forks inthe road always lead to more of Him, notmore of me.

5. Eating fried foods makes me feel gross andbloated. So don’t eat them. This includes (gasp) Chick-fil-A.

6. When I’m bored or depressed, chances are itis because God is at work. I may notknow it or see it, but He is still there. And more than likely, my depression and ennui stems fromcomplacency.

7. God is not concerned about my comfort, bymy conforming into His likeness.

8. Dry shampoo makes my head itch. And wool makes my eyes explode.

9. God is not concerned with how often I cookor even if I remember to make a list to take to the grocery store. He is concerned with how I love Him and myneighbor. He is concerned with my lovingothers, period. So any resolution that Imay think of that inhibits my ability to love those around me is probably apretty crappy one.

10. God is close to the brokenhearted, the needy,the poor, the sick, the orphaned. If Iwant more of Jesus in my life, I am going to have surround myself with thebrokenhearted, needy, poor, sick, and orphaned. And when I do this, I’ll find that all of those adjectives—broken, needy,poor, sick, and orphaned—apply to me as well. To my heart. And so I need thebroken, needy, poor, sick and orphaned folks probably more than they needme. In fact, my need for a dailyreminder of my need for Jesus is so great, that I probably should just invitesomeone broken, needy, poor, sick, and orphaned into my heart and home permanently.

Fingers Crossed

2011-12-28T20:07:00.000-05:00

Tonight is a pretty big milestone in the Phillips house.

Tonight, no one is sleeping in a crib.

That's right. Gracie is spending her first night in her big girl bed.

I'd like to tell you how well she is doing--that we are twenty minutes into the night and she has yet to get out of bed. That she has yet to jump on the bed. That she is quietly snuggled up with her Pinkie and LaLas and is nodding off to sleep. And that is all true, but, this not being my first time at the rodeo, I will not brag about this seemingly easy transition because I know that will jinx it. Becuase the second you holler from the rooftops that your infant is sleeping through the night, that same child becomes a zombie wanting to eat every thirty minutes. And the minute you toss out the diapers, your child that has gone months without a potty accident will suddenly start peeing their pants every 10 minutes. So, I'll simply let the pictures speak for themselves and confess, that yes, we finally bit the bullet and bought one of those fancy dancy video monitors because, well, because we are a little afraid of our high spirited two year old.

Loving the new big bed.

And by big girl bed, I mean a queen size. Though, it should be counted as a princess size bed.

Twenty minutes later and she is out. I had to whisper to her to lay back down and to snuggle her baby a couple of times as she crawled towards the edge of the bed, and I think my voice coming from no where sort of freaked her out. But she obeyed.

Your Christmas Present

2011-12-24T21:57:00.000-05:00

Over Thanksgiving, my three nephews (remember them?) made a video. It was for one of their religion classes in high school. And here it is for your viewing pleasure. I suggest you empty your bladder first.

Learning to love like Henry

2011-12-21T16:22:00.000-05:00

Our dear boy Henry has just about the biggest heart. Whereas the Grinch’s heart is two times toosmall, I’d argue that Henry’s heart is about four times as big as mine. He loves to hug and snuggle his little sisterand he can’t seem to say goodbye to a friend without hugging their neck. Sorry, 4 year old friend, if you aren’t a fanof hugs. Henry is to hugging as Buddythe Elf is to whispering.

So it is no surprise that Henry talks about his youngestsibling constantly. You know, the childthat hasn’t even been referred to us yet? Yeah. That one. He prays for his little brother everynight. He has even named him. We’ve told him that his little brother mayhave another name when he comes to live in our house, but that we can guaranteehis last name will be Phillips. To whichHenry chirps, “Hey, that’s just like me!”

And what has Henry named his little brother? Charlie. (He also insists that he will one day have a little sister namedRosie. If you aren’t aware, both Charlieand Rosie are train friends of Thomas. Oh, and before Gracie, he called the sibling he was waiting forJames.) And even though the child may betoo old to change his name (or perhaps we will just shift his Chinese name tohis middle name), we actually like the name Charlie. And, for those of you who don’t know, myhusband happens to go by his middle name. What is Sloan’s first name? Charles. So it seems fitting thatour son would be named for his Daddy.

So we pray for Charlie. These are the prayers of Henry: that he will have sweet dreams, that his friends will share their toyswith him, that he will like to play Thomas trains, and that when we go to Chinato pick him up he can go play at Jonathan and Isabel’s house (his cousins) andthat upon our immediate return from China we will all go to Legoland. These are our prayers for Charlie: that he will be loved, that his caregiverswill sing to him of God’s love, that he will receive all the medical attentionhe needs, that he will supernaturally see our family in his dreams so that wewill not be strangers upon our first meeting, that God would prepare Gracie’sheart to be an older sister, prepare our hearts to parent a child with specialneeds, and for us to have patience as we wait for him. We also pray that whoever put this idea aboutgoing to Legoland in Henry’s mind would shut the heck up. For reals.

The other night, as a family, we watched a short video about Bethany and their specialneeds program in China.

Bethany China from Bethany Christian Services on Vimeo.

At each and every picture with a boy, Henry said, “Is thatCharlie?” “No.” “But is that a wittle boy with no mommy ordaddy?” “Yes.” “Then we need to pray for them. And maybe they can come to Legoland with us?”

You might think it is wrong to expose Henry to the truth oforphans at such a young age. It doesmake him sad. And it might make youuncomfortable when Henry talks ad nasueam about how he is going to share histrains with his little brother, Charlie and that they will get bunk beds andtell stories at night and how it seems to him that this will be happening nextweek.

But guess what? It isright and good to be sad about sad things. It is right and good to cry for those whom Jesus sheds many tears. And we show the video, and pray with Henryfor those orphaned, and talk about how some kids don’t have Mommy and Daddiesalongside the bigger truths: God is aFather to these children and loves them to the moon and back. We, as God’s people, can be the ones tobring them into our families and love them and laugh with them and, yes, eventake them to Legoland. We can lookto the day where there will be no more orphans, no more poverty, no more tears.And we can do it eagerly, expectantly, and with great assurance: like Henry awaits his little brother.

X Games

2011-12-19T16:03:00.000-05:00

I'd like to take a moment to brag about the terrific man I married.

He's recently become involved in a ministry at our church that takes kids from our church's local neighborhood and plays outdoor games with them and then there's a snack and a short gospel message. This past Saturday, despite it being the first really December feeling day, there were a slew of kids ready to head to Byrd park to play. Kids whose parents hail from South Sudan, Nepal, Malawi, and various South American countries intermingled with kids and folks from the oh so Suburban West End of Richmond.

(Henry and Sloan do pushups. Apparently it was someone's 11th birthday. So they did 11 push ups.)

For the first time, the kids and I decided to join Sloan. He thought it'd be fun for Henry and I wanted to see him as it was his turn to give the message. He talked about what Christmas really means and that God coming to earth was the greatest gift of all and then he read the birth of Jesus from the Jesus Storybook Bible.

There were lots of things I loved about XGames. For one, it was the opportunity to see heaven on earth. Adults and kids from multiple nations, tongues and tribes coming together in Jesus' name. Laughing, playing tug of war, running, doing push ups and climbing walls.

I also loved how it was so simple. In the western church, we tend to think that kids won't show up to church if we don't have printed Tshirts, pyrotechnics, and cookies made in the shape of astronauts. Our supplies here were simple: a big rope, some footballs and frisbees, a cooler of water, and a group of adults who wanted to be love to a gaggle of under-served kids. We cheered for one another, competed against one another, and high fived one another. And then my adorable husband got to tell these kids of the never ending love of someone else who cheers for them: Jesus.

The Plum Panda

2011-12-16T09:08:00.000-05:00

I promise that every upcoming post will not be about adoption fundraisers. That said, I do plan to announce my new avenue to raise funds and toinvite you to join in.

I have created a facebook “shop” where folks can “buy” itemsby donating to our adoption fund at AdoptionJourney.Org. I will be making picture frames, yarn wreaths(because I’m kinda addicted to felt flowers), and bows. I’m sure there will be other crafts for saleas well as time goes. As items are made,they will be posted on the site. Itemscan also be commissioned for personalization.

Folks have been sending me coupons to various craft storesand even donating items like paint, ribbon, and yarn to help the cause. It’s been humbling to see how many folks arealready loving our child.

Some folks have also generously offered their gifts,talents, and vacation properties to help the cause. These items will be auctioned off after theNew Year. (Mainly so I’m not ignoring mykids during Christmas.) Just to teaseyou, here are some items that have already been donated—some beautiful handmade pottery, some graphic art from an artist in Austin, TX (so you know it’swicked cool), a photography session in Dalla s with a professional photographer,and two one week stays at a Lake front beach condo in Litchfield By the Sea,SC. So yeah, your family’s beachvacation could help bring an orphan into a forever family. And that is just what people messaged me about in 15 minutes last night.

SO PLEASE OH PLEASE, LIKE “THE PLUM PANDA” ON FACEBOOK and invite your friends to as well. Please share this post on facebook andtwitter and click the “Like the Plum Panda” button in my sidebar.

And oh yeah, why the Plum Panda? Well, because we are adopting a special needschild from China. And the Chinese arebelieved to be the first to cultivate plums and you’ve been living under a rockif the whole Pandas are from China is news to you. Also, let’s be clear…how cute is a purplepanda? And my cute purple panda craftedby the generous Ali Fogarty? A.Door. A. Bull.

And why not just ask for donations? Well, for one there is the whole peoplejudging us thing. And making things is away for me to relax and be productive while patiently waiting on the Lord to doHis thing to bring our child home. Buteven more than that, I believe that it takes a village. And that my family is part of the largerfamily of God. And so this holy villagewill do great things in His name and for our child. So it is an invitation to be a part of whatGod is doing. Perhaps you have a talentwe could auction off? Perhaps you have asmall business you’d like to promote? Orperhaps you’d like to get a custom handcrafted item for a wedding present orbaby shower? Or perhaps you don't have money, but you'd sure love to help and you also like to cook. Well, I can tell you people would probably be willing to donate $15-20 for you to deliver them a homecooked meal one night. Everyone is gifted by God with something. I'm simply asking you to honor Him and bless an orphan with the gifts you've been given. (Forgive me if that sounded a little too Jim Baker/PTL for you. It did for me.)

From time to time, I will feature some items on this blog ina feature called “Fundraising Friday”. And there will always be a link to the Facebook page on this blog. And, when I get the time, I’ll have anotherpage on this blog or perhaps another blog devoted to it.

Won’t you join us in seeing God at work?

Guest Blogger: Rockstar Tracy Scoggins!

2011-12-14T13:15:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine emailed me this last night and requested to be a guest blogger. I read it, it made me cry, and now I'm posting it. Tracy says that we rock her world. Dear readers, know that the feeling is mutual. Tracy is awesome. I've been friends with her for close to a decade and she has pretty much been a part of praying into my life every big blessing I have: Sloan, Henry, Gracie, and now P3.

Dear friends and Family of Elizabeth (and Sloan),

This blog posting might not be as entertaining as usual,because it wasn’t written by EJ. Imerely asked E to post this, for the hundreds, no thousands (millions?) of blogfollowers she has.

This is Tracy Scoggins, and the Phillips family rocks myworld. Their heart for orphans and theirobedience to God’s call (see James 1:27) has really challenged me. I too have a heart for orphans, and I want todo all that I can to support what they have taken on…international adoption ofa child with special needs. Gulp. In addition to the next 18 years of expenses, there is a bunchrequired up front. We’re talking manythousands of dollars. MANY. Think “2 brand new cars” (and on that note-they need a new van, but I digress…)

I am an independent Consultant with Thirty-One gifts, and Iam asking you to join me in a fundraiser for the Phillips family. All you need to do is shop. I know what you’re thinking… “Now THAT is afundraiser I can get on board with!” Think about gifts that you’ll be buying in the coming months anyways,and then consider shopping now, for a great cause.

I will donate 100% of my commission to the Phillips FamilyAdoption fund, which equals 25% of all sales.

All you need to do is go to my website, click on “place anorder”, and then look for “Adoption Fundraiser for the Phillips family” andclick “shop now” http://www.mythirtyone.com/tscoggins/

The fundraiser will run from now until January 13^th. The customer special displayed on the homepage will be the same the entire time. Those thermal totes make great teacher appreciation day gifts, and theycan be personalized!

Important notes:

IF YOU DO NOT LIVE INTHE RICHMOND AREA AND/OR DO NOT SEE ELIZABETH ON A REGULAR BASIS, PLEASEUNCHECK THE “SHIP TO HOST” BOX, AND OPT FOR DIRECT SHIPPING!

Most items can be personalized, for a flat fee of $7. I just bought a Cindy Tote that says“adopted” (it’s a conversation starter, to allow me to share about how Godadopted me and how I believe that every child deserves a loving family).

If you need a catalog or help with something, feel free tocall or email (info is on my website).

Thank you so much for PARTNERING with the Phillips family asthey take on this really exciting challenge!!!

So happy and honored to be a part of this,

Tracy Scoggins

Good thing I like to collate

2011-12-12T14:27:00.000-05:00

The papers are signed.

Each portion is encased in a plastic sleeve and is clippedin a binder. (And no, they aren’t neatlylabeled. Mainly because my daughterthought my label maker was a cell phone, tried calling Cookie Monster on it, and when no one answered, proceeded to threw it across the kitchen floor. It died. I may or may not havecrumpled in tears.)

And because I like to think ahead, I will be photocopyingeach and every slip of paper and saving two copies. One copy in case something gets lostsomewhere. One copy in case, well, wellbecause I didn’t do this with Gracie’s file and a lot of this paperwork was thesame. So, yeah, one copy is in case wedecide to go for P4. (This is whereSloan rolls his eyes and tells me to focus on the present child before I startthinking about the next one. It’s alsowhere he grips the door frame and shakes his head. But in a way that lets me know that he is onthe same page.)

Tomorrow morning we head to the bank to get the last papernotarized and a stack of money order’s purchased. Then we will be hand delivering thebinder to our agency, Bethany Christian Services. Our goal was to have this completed December15^th. So we are two days early.

Which puts us one day closer to bringing our boy home.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

2011-12-07T15:25:00.001-05:00

Thanks to a church school craft, there are two baby Jesuses in our homemade shoebox and pine needle manger. Or is it Jesusi? Jesusen? Las dos crías Cristos?

Waiting Sounds like a Banjo

2011-12-06T21:30:00.001-05:00

It has been such a gift for our family to celebrate Advent as we begin this international adoption journey. It is preparing our hearts to worship the true child we're all longing for. It is teaching our hearts what hopeful waiting looks like. It is reminding us that faithful longing is good and right and expectant.

Our waiting is to look like a kid on Christmas eve: jumpy, expectant, sure of the good gifts that await him. It is NOT supposed to be burdened or mopey or doubtful or fearful or impatient or certain of despair. Faithful waiting does not look for the other shoe to drop.

My church has a blog that accompanies the sermon each week. And since the sermon series for Advent is on waiting, the blog is loaded up with paintings and songs and readings regarding this holy expectant longing. Prior to looking at this blog, I would've suggested that God's holy waiting soundtrack would be full of dirges. Maybe some monks bellowing baritoned Latin. Perhaps some slow Kenny G-esque tenor sax. (Apparently, I believed waiting on the Lord meant God was busy with another person and had put me on hold with some Jesus-y Musak.)

False.

The soundtrack of holy longing is frenetic. It's toe tappin' music. It's the kind of music that keeps you pointed to the One on whom you are waiting. Simply put: holy longing music usually has a banjo in it. And perhaps a mandolin. Better yet, both.

So while I'm longing and waiting and hoping and praying, I'm going to be listening to this little diddy posted by my Pastor:

Trampled By Turtles-Wait So Long from Justin Gustavison on Vimeo.

The One Where I Ask for Your Money (Or not)

2011-12-05T16:56:00.001-05:00

Sooooo…in case you haven’t been around in awhile, we areadopting from China. And in case you’re headless,that is not an inexpensive endeavor. That said, Sloan and I, along with Bono, believe that the God we serveis not short on cash. And so while we’renot 100% sure where all the adoption funds are going to come from, we do havesome inklings and we are making adjustments.

Some of you may have heard me proclaiming from the rooftopsa couple of months ago that we were going to finally put my Suburban to restand get a minivan. We saved and savedand saved and saved and were ready to put down a wad of cash on a Sienna whenmy husband heard the call to adopt again and I began dreaming of a little Asianboy in glasses running through my house. So, despite my longing for a car whose doors open at the press of aremote and 17 cup holders and rows that fold quickly and doesn't constantly have a flashing Check Engine light, we’ve squashedthat dream. Or, at least, we aredelaying it. Because despite the Burbanstroubles and dents, she is paid for.

I gotta tell you, giving up a minivan seems like a muchbigger thing to give up than Christmas cards. I'll try not to exagerrate when I tell you that it was not a decision that came without tears.

So, perhaps in an effort to keep the Sienna dream alive, I came up with the idea to do fundraisers for the adoption: a yardsale, joining the BlogHer Ad network, figuring out some craft I can sell onEtsy, a friend hosting a 31 party for me and donating some of her commissionto us, applying for grants, and even just letting folks donate money to a fund for us. It was this last item that was abit of a sticky wicket for us.

Here’s the thing: on some level, I do feel that adoption has a missional component. It is a re-enacting of the Gospel. We are leaving our comfort zone to go and bearwith an orphan and bring back a son. Soin that respect, it feels right to invite others on this journey by solicitingprayer and funds. However, the gospelalso shows us that Jesus’ cost wasn’t only his heavenly throne but his verylife. (Therefore a delayed getting of a minivan seemspretty trite by comparison.) And it isour cost to bear. If you want to bearthe cost of bringing an orphan home yourself, you should probably adopt aswell. (But if, say, you’re like 70 yearsold and you have those burlap sacks of cash with the money symbols on the sides just sitting around, we’ll take a couple.) (I’m totally kidding.) (No, I’m not.)

However, if we invite others to donate money, we inviteothers to judge how we spend our money. (Not that some people really need an invitation.) An acquaintance of mine suggested that if wereally wanted to adopt again, we should get rid of cable and internet, cell phones,pull Henry from preschool, never eat out again, never do date nights orbirthday parties or presents again.

Ummm…no.

I need date nights and the occasional SteakQueso burrito from Qdoba. And my husband, who works from home when he's not traveling, needs the internet. And I could dowithout cable but we just signed a 2 year contract and there are fees if webreak it. And now I feel like I have torationalize all of the ways I spend money to you.

If I let people donate to us are they going to be tickedwhen they see me post pics on Facebook of the kids Christmas presents? Or mypins on Pinterest about planning Henry’s Angry Birds themed birthdayparty? Really, that judgment is the other person’ssin to carry and not ours, but we still feel its condemnation.

At the same time, trust me when I say we arebeing very intentional with how we spend our money as of late. And you should be intentional with yourfinances as well. Maybe you should donate to our adoption fund. Maybe it would be a way for God to work inyour life. But maybe, if you see my Facebook movie theater check-inwhen we go to see the Muppets over Sloan’s Christmas vacation and all you canthink is, “Gosh, movies are expensive, if I’d known they were going to be sodecadent, I wouldn’t have sent them $25” we really would rather you not help usout. Donate straight to an organizationlike Bethany Christian Services or World Vision. It’ll be tax deductible anyways, whereas thePhillips family, as awesome as we are, are not a 501©3 non-profit.

All that being said, I’ll straight up take a donation of anew Toyota Sienna. Smoky Topaz. Leather Interior with the entertainmentpackage. I am, after all, going to behauling around three kids soon. Or a newHonda Odyssey. I’m not picky.

Why We Aren’t Sending Out Christmas Cards

2011-12-02T16:33:00.001-05:00

If you’ve ever received a Christmas card from our family,you’ll agree with me that they pretty much are the best cards you hang on yourwall. I mean, they are so awesome thatsome people keep them on their fridge year round.

Here is the photo we used our first year of marriage.

For reals. We gotmarried in August, but I had the foresight to pack a Santa hat in my weddingbag. That’s the kind of ~~crazy~~ brilliantI am.

And this was last year’s card.

Which is pretty much impossible to beat. Ever. The writing on the card was even in lime green.

This year, I had grand plans to out-do last year’s card. I picked out adorable outfits in navy and black, with pops of red. Sloan’sGamecock critter pants were going to be featured. I selected a gorgeous spot in my parent’sbackyard (because they have professional landscapers and we have a mud-pitlittered with Little Tykes cars). Ilined up my teenage niece to take the photo as she has a super duper DSLR andis a budding photographer.

But somehow, in the insanity that was the Thanksgivingholiday at my parents’ house, we never got to take the picture. We attempted to get a pic by my father-in-lawin my in-law’s back yard. But a) thatyard is an explosion of my father-in-law’s extensive bonsai tree collection, b) my in-laws don’t make the silly “look at the camera” noises and faces, so wegot a pic of Henry picking his nose and the back of Gracie’s head and then the back ofHenry’s head and Gracie picking her nose, and c) I had clearly chosen the wrongoption of the three packed that matched the color scheme. Additionally, any person with a brain willtell you that noon is just about the worst time to take an outside photoever.

So I’ve been scrambling to find photos for the card. And it has stressed me out. Because once I have the photos, then I’llhave to select the card, and at this point, probably pay for fast shipping so I’llstill have time to stuff and address them and then pay half a dollar to sendthem to you. And because of our largefamilies and Sloan’s work connections, we usually send out 150 cards. So it is not an inexpensive endeavor. And I just can’t seem to rationalize spending$300 or so when that money could be used to bring my kid home from anorphanage.

I asked myself, why am I doing this? Am I sendingout a card so that I can say to everyone “Joy to the World, the Lord isCome! Let earth receive her King!”? Or am I sending it out so that I can say, “Heyeverybody! Come see how good I look?”

I must confess, my answer was the latter. (Oh, and I also want you to see my blogaddress and follow me on Twitter because I confuse social media stats with myidentity as well.)

It’s a hard pill to swallow. Because I have a little stack of Phillips family Christmas cards that I’mreally proud of. I mean, how awesome wasthe one that read “We’re tickled pink this Christmas” as we announced Grace’sarrival into our family? (That year’scolor scheme was pink, cranberry, and green with black and white photos.) It is clear to me that a considerable chunkof my identity was wrapped up in the awesomeness of our Christmas card. That is just dumb. Dumb and sinful.

So instead, we will attempt to get a good picture of thefamily this season so that we at least have a family photo this year. And I can print it out and put it in thestack. And I’ll post it here, on Facebook, and Twitter in order to wish youa Holly, Jolly Christmas and to say "Let every heart prepare Him room." But don’texpect one in the mail from us this year. We will instead be donating $300 to our own adoption fund. (Which you can too, if you follow the link onthe right sidebar.)

That being said, upon the arrival of P3 (aka, the third Phillips kid), just know I’ve already contacted a professional photographer to do new familyportraits. And we will be really,really, good looking. We’ll probablywear casual outfits that coordinate but aren’t too matchy-matchy and pose bysomething quirky and random like a train station or a giant field of weeds atsundown. We will be laughing in our sweaters. Youwill look at our multi-ethnic family, in navy, black and red, and you will think, “Wow. Who knew “Onearth as it is in Heaven” looked a whole lot like a Benetton ad? The wonders of His love, indeed.”

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-30T15:32:00.001-05:00

I use the dining room as my office.

Gracie prefers a cubicle in the family room.

I can't finish it and FYI, boys like to fart

2011-11-28T15:00:00.001-05:00

Big shock. I didn't successfully do NaBlogPoMo. (You know the thing where I was supposed to do a blog post every day for a month.) November is a tricky month with Thanksgiving and all. My husband understands that for my own sanity and the health of our family, I need at least an hour a day with my laptop. Twenty minutes to blog or so and the rest to work on my manuscript. If you had been at my parents' house over Thanksgiving with the throngs of children and adults and not nearly enough booze, you would understand that sanity is not a high priority. It's survival of the fittest.

I'm not really bummed, though. It started to get taxing blogging EVERY DAY. I do, however, think I want to set three times a week as a discipline and goal. (And also, that is a requirement for the ads I'm going to be posting on here in the near future. Sorry if you think that is selling out. I'm trying to adopt a special needs kid from Asia and that ain't cheap.)

But to give you a laugh, let me leave you with the following story.

Sloan and I went shopping in Greensboro with my three teenage nephews, Anderson, Caleb, and William. They are each hilarious and kind and boneheaded in ways that only teenage boys can be. (Oh, they're also all good looking. And not in a "I'm their Aunt so I have to say that" kind of way. Yes, it's a little bit creepy to say that, but seriously, you'd think out of 14 grandkids, my parents' would have at least one that was just marginally attractive. But false. The Johnson kids have beautiful children.) Add to that my husband who really isn't known for being all that mature and what you get is the equivalent of shopping with four giant toddlers. Toddlers obsessed with burping, farting, texting, and making "That's what she said" jokes. Does it make you nervous that three of the four men in this story have driver's licenses? It should. Because if one of them is driving and another one of them farts, apparently there is some sort of bro code that requires the driver to turn on the window lock so everyone is stuck suffocating in the car. You'd think that because for some odd reason we were in 2 cars it would help, but you'd be wrong. There was enough gas to go around.

At one point, Sloan was parking the car and the three boys were supposed to be in Foot Locker. Apparently I missed them when I was finishing up at Old Navy. So I walked into Foot Locker and said, "Um, I'm looking for three teenage boys."

Yeah, it was an akward moment for everyone.

Then I heard a honk and there was my nephew Anderson driving my sister's 15 passenger van (she has 8 kids, remember?). My nephew Caleb was riding shotgun and yelled, "Hey, Aunt EJ, come get in the man van." So, of course, I did get in the man van. And when I told them about my "looking for three young boys" question, it should come as no surprise that one of them said, "Well, I suspect Penn State is hiring."

I quickly added Penn State and pedophilia to my growing laundry list of things they were not allowed to make fun of.

My favorite part of the entire excursion was when we were driving to Macy's in the man van. Anderson was at the wheel and Caleb was again riding shotgun. He had his window rolled down and was trying to look cool with his arm hanging out of the giant silver van. He saw some girls on the sidewalk and he called out to them, "Hey ladies, looking good. Look at my cool ride. My big brother will drive us wherever we want to go."

Later in the day, Caleb later confessed that if he had a terminal illness, his make a wish would be to have Morgan Freeman follow him around and narrate his life. Caleb is now waking up. When Caleb brushes his teeth, he thinks "Damn, I look good" and he is right. He does look good.

So, if you need a good laugh, I'd suggest renting my nephews. But be forewarned, they're gassy. And constantly texting. And you might just pee your pants.

Together We're Unlimited

2011-11-22T19:55:00.001-05:00

Tonight, for what I'm sure will not be one night only, the Phillips and Pusey cousins performed pretty much the entire show of Wicked. With a little bit of Tom Sawyer thrown in for good measure. At one point, my 5 year old niece Isabel was crying because she wanted to perform Popular as a solo. Seriously, she was crying. Her red lipstick smeared and painted for the back rows lashes running. It was as though I was watching myself thirty years ago. Except, of course, I made playbills and forced my parents to buy tickets to watch me dance in leotards in the living room.

There would be more pictures, but you see, I was one of the headliners.

"There's been some confusion
For you see, my roommate is: "

"Unusually and exceedingly peculiar
And altogether quite impossible to describe"

"Blonde."

And the leading man?

It was pretty much the best thing ever. My nephew Caleb was more than annoyed. Which made it even more fun.Then there was some running around naked (by the 4 and under crowd). Followed by an ice cream party.

Thanksgiving at the Asylum

2011-11-21T21:48:00.001-05:00

Ahhh…Thanksgiving.

I am at my parents’ house in NC for close to aweek. With my sister and her brood. So, for those of you doing the math, that is6 adults and 12 children. The ages areas follows: Matthew and Gracie (2), Henry (4), Isabel (5), Jonathan (8), Joshua(10), Rebekah (12), Rachel (14), Caleb (16), and Anderson (18). I’m sure that my 18 and 16 year old nephewswould argue that they are adults. False. And then on Thursday, we’ll also have my brother’screw over here which will add Natalie (7), Caroline (10), Sarah Grace (13), andWilliam (15).

So we are outnumbered 2 to 1. Even more so when you add to the fact that Itend to feel about 12 years old when I’m at my folks’ house.

But either way, it’s crazy up in here. There are tents and sleeping bags in the playroom. I think my niece just broke her toe leapingoff the elliptical machine. You know,the one she was forbidden to play on. Icecream was served at 9pm. To the kids whoare accustomed to going to bed at 7:30.

So for day 21, I am thankful for wine. Lots and lots of wine.

You’ll also understand why the blog posts may be scant thisweek. It tends to ruffle feathers when Itake time away to write. Or read. Or work out. Or go to the bathroom. Also, myhusband requested to be mentioned in this post. By name. His name is Sloan. And here I am, mentioning him.