The Exit Plan

One week ago today, Keith authoritatively slapped a fancy piece of paper down in front of me. The colorful document, which looked more like a spreadsheet tracking the market status, was labeled along the left-hand side:

"Exit Plan A" and "Exit Plan B."

This was no strategy as to how we'd leave a burning building. Nor was it a plan of escape suppose we fell into the hands of spies, a terrorist or, in general, some mad man.

I soon realized what I held in my hands was a schedule of our last days in the States. Two versions of a 2-month horizontal calendar. All those colors and bars? The different places we are committed to and for what length of time plus important dates like birthdays to celebrate and Keith's last day of work. Gasp! That event denotes so many things I am frightened of losing. Stability. Security. Familiarity. Insurance. Bigger gasp!

I was equally impressed and appalled. I am wowed by any color-coded document whipped up in a program I've probably never used. The reason for my offense? I was presented with a schedule and not consulted regarding such matters.

But then I remembered my role in a process like this and withheld my complaints. My only duty is to pack up myself and the kids. Oh, and the contents of our home. Let's not forget about that little ole task. However, I've been told we are renting the house furnished, so I'll probably receive a color-coded list of items I am allowed to pack, simplifying my job even more.

I'll keep my job, although it is daunting at the moment with empty boxes stacked as far as the eye can see. All I ask is that I am allowed a good look at my boarding pass so that I'll know the gate for which I am headed.

March 25th is the day we plan to leave Georgia, but that fancy schedule says we'll be here for about another 4 weeks visiting family and ministry partners. The cities officially listed are Birmingham, Seattle, Houston, Dallas, Oklahoma City, and Poteau (our hometown). If you are in or near any of the listed destinations and would like to visit with us, PLEASE contact us.

Sleeping Beauty

Although I arrived early Saturday morning, I did nothing but sleep until dinner time. Even then getting up was heavily debated. My dinner companions, who are also my housemates, included the owner Dave, an elderly volunteer Debbie, who is also my bunkmate and an extremely heavy sleeper, Dave’s parents, a married couple who are best friends with the parents, the top 3 of the Ethiopian staff within the organization, and another friend of Dave’s.

I arrived for the tail end of the celebratory events being held for the beloved employees. Had I flown in just 2 days earlier, I would have made it to the goat-slaughtering party. Yes. They paraded in a goat. Let him put on a smile and show for guests then callously cut him and cooked him up. And people were bragging about this party. Poor little goat. I think that’s what I’ve chosen for a pet. Not too loud. Bearable size and quantity of poo. Bonus lawn maintenance. Last but not least, I think my family could get accustomed to goat’s milk. I just won’t be telling the kids that the milk in their cereal was just squeezed out of fluffy’s ta tas. No. I’ll keep that to myself.

We were 8 minutes late for our dinner reservations, which is early for Ethiopia, but they’d impatiently given our tables away. So, it was on to the back-up restaurant. I knew what I was ordering before we even sat down. Believe it. Turns out the delicious-smelling yumminess being cooked on an open flame outside was a meat kabob, which was labeled BBQ on the menu. Although I ordered chicken and fish, I’m not quite sure what I was served. Still. Yum. E.

I stayed up late for a quick check in and skype call with Keith, whom I knew was having a hissy over not receiving confirmation on whether I was alive or dead. I slept till noon the next day, which meant I missed shopping, lunch, a visit to an orphanage, and church. Sinner. Ordinarily, I might be miffed that no one woke me for church, or for goodness sake shopping! However, apparently everyone known to the guest home tried unsuccessfully to wake me. Even the translator one evening after learning my name admitted being sent in from my group for one last attempt before heading out. I can’t blame them though. It takes more than a gentle whisper or flicker of the light to bring me out of the trance induced by my padded eye mask paired with the blaring white noise of an upright oscillating fan from my ipod ear buds.

The gang returned to pick me up for a “quick bite to eat” before working the rest of the evening. A lofty plan. Over 4 hours later we fought the mass chaos, including a group of young men who ran around in the street with a van door in tow, which had ensued over the excitement of Liverpool’s winning the African Cup…soccer. I tried to get outside at the restaurant to get a picture of the riotous mass running through the streets, but the owner protectively blocked the doorway and told me it was just too dangerous for me.

We did work half the night but only because we didn’t get started till 9 PM. Ugh!

Here’s a snapshot of what’s been happening in my absence:

You have correctly identified my apple slicer being used for a kiwi, the easiest fruit on the planet to cut. Keith’s a first timer though. Bless his heart. He’s new to the world of produce. He told the kids to eat it like an orange, of which the boys typically eat the peel solely to gross out Avery. Nothing was going to stop them from eating the fuzzy brown kiwi skin. Avery’s too. She was so sweet to share after having eaten all the flesh off her pieces.

The Lone Traveler

Why am I in Ethiopia?

Ah, many reasons.

1. We had hoped I could come back during the summer.

2. The stateside founder of the ministry we'll be working with was planning a trip in October along with a stateside volunteer. This should be a totally different experience with the Boss Man here.

3. There are several opportunities for me here this week...new developments within the organization and decisions being made...that will forecast the next 5-10 years. I would love to see those first hand...you know, since we'll be living here in a few months. God willing, of course.

4. I need to get to know the Ethiopian staff and those being served through the ministries here. A large part of what Keith and I will be doing here is relational ministry. That may not even sound like a real kind of ministry to some of you, but it is perhaps the most effective kind.

5. So, if you were moving across the ocean, wouldn't you jump at the chance to figure life out there? Even Ethiopia is getting less scary...I mean more totally awesome...the more I am here.

Are those enough reasons?

Why didn't I tell anyone, not even my BFF or my parents?

1. I did tell 2 friends (who have the luxury of flying for free) in September when Keith and I discussed the trip. Sadly, neither could join me.

2. You are aware of the communication situation between Keith and me. Not another word of making the trip until last week when he asked before purchasing a plane ticket, "So are you really going to Ethiopia?"

3. And the days leading up to my departure were filled with arranging child care and preparing food for 22 out of the 27 meals for which I would be absent. It really just slipped my mind.

So there.

How was my first solo international traveling experience?

First we should address the fact...the miracle...that I was even permitted to do so. I don't have a clue. You and I are seeing a new side of Keith. Perhaps my hauling the kids and Simon to Oklahoma and Texas proved to him that I'm wearing big girl pants and can keep track of my own passport. I will say he sent me off with a verbal list of instructions and walked me to the front of the security line. That sweet man.

One of the things Keith mandated was that I "make friends" with a traveler so that upon arrival amidst the chaos of baggage claim in Ethiopia someone might notice if I need assistance. Or if I happen to go missing. That lucky person was the gal in front of me to check in for my connection in DC. She and her husband were adopting from Ethiopia but were on this trip to go backpacking in Tanzania. For fun. Not my cup of tea, but I'll take what I can get.

I struck gold at the check-in counter with an airline employee who had been disapprovingly weighing everyone's carry-ons, shaking his head at them. Yes, they weigh and measure your carry-on bag! The limit is 17 pounds, and mine was 10.5 over. But, I had greeted him cheerily and pretended to understand his English as he tried to make conversation. He said something to the effect that he could tell my heart was happy for Ethiopia. So, he leaned down and quietly said he was going to just check that bag for free and then kindly waved me away when he saw my other carry-on, which was perhaps heavier than the first. Bless him!

I have no complaints about the flight accept that a flight attendant adamantly woke me from my first and only good nap, despite the pleas of the man and woman next to me to just let me sleep, so that she could force on me a gluten-free meal that I did not order. Peaking out from under my eye mask, I tried to shoo her away but she was relentless. Finally I took out an ear plug with one hand, the other holding the meal she refused to take away, and heard the woman 2 seats down say she did order a gluten-free meal. I handed it to her before Pushy Flight Attendant could even reach for the slip verifying that the meal indeed belonged to the woman in seat J and not to me in seat L.

The best in-flight movie was "Rock of Ages." Although I found it under the category Blockbusters, I felt it fit better in Classics. Stellar cast. Amazing music. You mean you haven't even heard of it? Me either. However, I must have the movie and the soundtrack. Hint, hint to anyone who is looking for a going-away gift idea.

At the horrific baggage claim, my backpacking friends were no where to be found. But the good news is that not a single stranger approached me offering help. I, however, tried to take a luggage cart from one man, whom I had assumed was an airline employee dutifully bringing in carts for arriving passengers. I later realized the guys with that job were wearing earthy-toned scrubs and not a navy Polo wind-breaker that I mistook for part of a Delta uniform. He politely told me he needed both carts. Awkward? Yes. But even more awkward was that he and his brother fell in line directly behind me to wait an eternity at customs. Born and raised in Ethiopia, they had spent the last 8 years in New York and their English was impeccable. The 3 of us traded stories of past, present and future as they walked me through customs and all the way to the man holding this sign:

A Blogger's Hiatus

Nope. This isn’t part 2 of our story. Just an update since my blogger hiatus.

What have we been up to for the last 8-10 weeks?

Avery asked Keith to dance with her stuffed Dumbo, who had dressed up for the occassion. We were all the captive audience. As you can see, Garrison is thoroughly enjoying the show.

At the end of July I loaded up the family, minus Keith, with Simon as my narcoleptic co-pilot and made the 11-hour drive to Oklahoma. After nearly a week with family and friends, I packed everyone back into the van and drove 8 hours to Houston. Lucky for the kids that Keith flew in for the final weekend with his parents so that I didn’t have to make the 12-hour trip home alone.

Saying our goodbyes in Oklahoma.

In Texas, the kids and their cousins made tie dye shirts and onesies for the new baby...with a little help from me.

Although shockingly I have no funny stories to tell about my travels, I could tell you about a mom who prepared for everything but Armageddon. To eliminate stopping for meals, I packed baggies full of nuts, fruit, veggies, chicken, and even more veggies. Plus one package of fruit snacks each. I am not the cool mom. No, sir. Each child had a cup of water, but I forbade them to drink any because of the no-stopping-for-a-potty-break philosophy. The seat pocket in front of each child was stocked with coloring supplies, a lacing toy for idle hands, and a trash/vomit bag with very clear instructions on what to do with it. They were also strongly encouraged to fill their backpacks with a blanket for naps in the van, a change of clothes just in case, plus an electronic game with ear buds so I wouldn’t have to listen. I have zero complaints about the entire experience, except that I missed my husband, and would do it more often if it weren’t for that.

We arrived home in time to unpack and get groceries before our friend Bisrat (visiting from Ethiopia) flew in. The kids and I kept him entertained for the week, and Keith joined us the latter part of his stay for some touristy expeditions in Atlanta.

In addition to poking fun at the volume of pillows with which Americans adorn their beds, especially guest beds, he enlightened us as to the low down, and I mean way low down, on Ethiopia. Although it’s nothing I can post here, it hasn’t dissuaded us from going. And, while it still seems a relatively safe place for foreigners, specifically Americans, we are grateful certain family members are not privy to such information. In fact, were we making this decision 15 or 20 years down the road, we probably wouldn’t be facing it with as much enthusiasm. But, with youth comes naivety, even in the midst of knowledge.

Sadly, we captured the majority of our experiences on Bisrat’s camera, and these 2 blurry shots are the only ones to show you. Ivan, who has been known to be sent to bed after dinner, was rewarded one evening for who knows what by getting to stay up 10 minutes past his siblings and teach Bizzy how to play Xbox.

The zoo was part of his ATL tour, but he escaped all the pics we took.

Here the kids are with one of their BFFs Worth.

Seriously, my kids are so stinkin' cute!

Avery, the ferocious tiger.

Then we had the super fun, never-ending, amazing wedding on Labor Day. Two of our very best friends got hitched in Atlanta over the course of a 4-day celebration. Yes, my dress was fabulous, but did you see the very handsome and sexy Keith in any facebook photos? If his job required him to wear a white button up and suspenders every day, there’s not a whole lot that would get done.

Thankfully, this was one of those kid-free weddings, so I divvied out the kids to the homes of 4 friends and didn’t think twice.

The following weekend our kids experienced all things beachy for the first time when we took our first ever. Yes, ever. Family vacation. Destination: Orange Beach, Alabama. Not the swankiest of retreat areas for adults or kids, but it was free. And, even better is that our getaway was with 2 more of our best friends and their kids.

I need to teach this gal some modesty!

So that Megan and I could have some quality beach time, Keith and Mr. Chris took the kids to some kind of museum. I didn't ask too many questions. I mean, we were getting a few hours without our kids. The guys could have told us they were taking the kids to learn how to throw knives and I wouldn't have batted an eye.

Next on the agenda was the biggest yard sale ever! I mean, EVER. The idea was a smallish fundraiser to get rid of the purged items in Round 1. We were overwhelmed by how much our fellow church members brought in to sell. Overwhelmed in the good sense that, “Gee, this is awesome how much people are supporting us. I feel so loved.” But also overwhelmed as in, “Are you kidding me? We’ve got less than 2 days to sort through the mounds of crap…I mean items to sell…that people have dumped on us…I mean donated. And, there is no end in sight.”

We just weren’t prepared for the department-store level of set up we’d have to do. Although I lost count of how many full trailer loads of donations Keith unloaded, it was such a blessing. We raised enough money for about half the airfare needed for our family to move. And, a sweet friend has already offered to host another one at the end of October to sell some of the leftovers.

A few days later, the paternal grandparents showed up for a 4-day visit. They headed home the same day Keith left for a scheduled “work” trip. Sunday night we returned from Tennessee, the home of some friends who took our newest family pictures. Much more on that weekend later. And, of course I’ll plaster the rest of the pics on here when we get them.

Trip 3, Day 6: The Travel Essentials

It is February, and I have already decided on Keith’s Father’s Day gifts. I typically don’t plan gifts 4 months in advance, and usually there is no planning for Father’s Day. That one can be the kids’ responsibility. Two items he needs if we are to travel by plane ever again. Just as I am positive he will adamantly rebel against them upon receipt and initial use, I am positive he will use and love them. Don’t be surprised if these become the essentials…the backbone…of his travel. When it happens, You Know Who will be right here to document it.

Although I’ve seen it coming for years, I realized his need for the first gift while we were in the Atlanta airport as he dumped everything in his hands or pockets into my purse. Wallet, sunglasses, keys. Yes, he’ll entrust his wallet to me yet not my own plane ticket. The problem has nothing to do with whether or not there being enough room in my purse. There is always enough room. I am the Bag Lady. The Very Big Bag Lady. The issue is the principle. I carry a bag large enough to hold my crap. (For the record, we don’t use the “C” word at home, so don’t panic over my profanity.) The more crap the bigger the bag. Not so much crap means I can downsize. If he wants to haul around crap, he needs to get his own bag, right? He actually carries a pretty good sized back pack when traveling, but it’s apparently not as easily accessible as my purse. It’s not just that he expects me to carry his crap, but he also wants me to dig it out on demand. “Tell him to dig for it himself,” you say? I’ve tried. But he gets overwhelmed by the amount of crap in there and dumps the entire thing out looking for the one tiny thing he needs, leaving me to replace and reposition the items. Yes, it would be easier for me to just reach in to get it. And, it’s really not that big of a deal. But I have spent years hauling around other people’s (i.e. my kids) crap and would like the chance to just carry my own crap for a change. Is that too much to ask? Enter the fanny pack. Right there at his waist and in the front so he can see what it is he’s digging for. Perfect! Gift #1…check.

His need…no, his desire… for the second gift came as a big surprise to me. As you already know, I am The Most Prepared Traveler. A few situation-saving, if not life-saving, unconventional travel items with me: my own coffee sweetener, coffee creamer, spill-proof coffee mug, 6 pounds of assorted nuts in addition to several boxes of protein bars, Emergen-C pouches, eye mask and ear plugs, 8 highlighters with matching post-it flags, 4 books plus my Kindle, house shoes and full-length robe, an entire medicine cabinet including antibiotics, rubber gloves and those butterfly strips. Oh, and, most importantly, Avery’s new unicorn pillow pet. Besides the butterfly Band Aids, which were medically necessary, can you guess the other item Keith has needed and attempted to steal on this trip?

Let me give you a hint: It’s covered in pink and purple fur with a soft finger-like forehead protrusion, and when I returned from the bathroom on the first flight Keith was snuggled up against the window on it and unwilling to let go. However, I demanded it back not because I wanted to take a nap as well but because he had ridiculed and shamed me since I first mentioned the possibility of this snuggly animal making the trip with me days prior to departure. Plus, he refused my offers to find a travel pillow for him. Why the pet and not merely a normal C-shaped travel pillow? Well, we had 2 of them, both to which Keith adamantly rejected. I looked to the unicorn as my only (free) option when I realized I left one in Texas at Christmas and that Simon chewed a hole in the other.

So, the unicorn it is! Although I was possibly the laughing stock of security, especially in Germany, I did see other adult travelers with pillow pets. Okay, I saw one other lady traveling with her daughter, but my flight attendant friend Sierra told me she once saw an entire family traveling with his or her own pillow pet. Assuming there were 2 adults in that family, that’s 4 adults. I think that makes it a little less abnormal.

I would like to make a formal recommendation to all travelers, by plane, train or automobile, to get your hands on a pillow pet. Not just any though. For instance, the ladybug is out of the question as a gift for Keith for obvious reasons but also because it has no neck. The unicorn was perfect because I secured the head behind my neck leaving the pillow to one side for sleeping. Need a bigger cushion? Fold it up and Velcro. It also doubled when I was awake as a lap table for reading or note taking. I’m not sure why I’d be taking notes on the plane, but I could do it with ease on the unicorn. I’m still shopping around for the perfect pillow animal to wrap up my shopping, but I’m thinking zebra. Gift #2…check.

Keith eventually gave up his thieving efforts and made his own pillow using his hoodie and 2 airline travel pillows. Who is the winner?

Trip 3, Day 1: The Stabbing

I woke this morning to the sound of someone repeatedly beating on plastic. When I removed my eye mask and ear plugs, I saw it was Keith using a hefty knife to cut off the zip ties that were holding lids to the totes of donations. You know what I’m thinking. It’s the same thing Keith thinks as he watches me torture an avocado in an attempt to remove the pit. I held my tongue and meandered groggily to the bathroom, which luckily is inside our room. Moments later, I heard, “Ahh! I knew I’d do that.” And, I mumbled to myself, “Honey, I did too.”

After assessing the damage, I was a bit concerned. There was a half-inch slit in the flesh of his forearm that quickly grew to a gaping hole as blood poured out. I grabbed for the facial cleansing wipes handily stowed in my carry-on as Keith wadded up toilet paper he had kicked across the floor. Wait, isn’t the first thing you should do with a fresh open wound is to wash it out? Yes. Yes, it is…when there is running water. When our toilet wouldn’t flush upon arrival, we were informed that it had been cut off. This morning it was still not working, letting 12 hours of urine brew in the toilet.

Keith said there was no way he was getting stitches and requested that I find some tape to close it up. I hesitated because on our first trip here, the receptionist dug for half an hour to find a piece of scrap paper and a pen for me. There’s no way they keep any kind of advanced office supply like scotch tape on hand. Then I remembered I am the Most Prepared Traveler. I had not only packed two separate bags of Band-Aids with a tube of anti-bacterial ointment in each (one in my carry-on and one in my bathroom bag) but I had also grabbed a box of butterfly closures from our bathroom closet thinking, “Just. In. Case.”

So I got Keith fixed up before he bled to death and quickly got ready for church since playing doctor put me behind schedule. When the rest of the guests here heard we were going to an authentic Ethiopian church, they jumped in the van to come along. Same church as last time. Maybe even same interpreter on the little headsets. One difference: we got to be Back-row Baptists because I knew better and requested to Bisrat that we NOT be ushered to the front and center seats.

It’s been a pretty relaxing Sabbath except for a killer headache, which is likely a side effect from the half a Lunesta I took last night. When just one Tylenol PM knocks me out for a good 12 hours, I know to go easy on the sleep meds. Still, I have slept the day away, except for the church outing. Thank you, Lunesta. Dinner is in a few, which will be the first meal I’ve come out of my room for today. It better be good. But I have a container of parmesan cheese if not. Most Prepared Traveler.

The toilet finally flushed this afternoon, but I’ve left the door to our room open to air out the sewer smell. No water in the sink yet, which means I may have a great excuse to skip showering altogether on this trip. Keith’s stab wound looks descent. I’m sure I’ll have to force him to get a tetanus shot when we get home.

That Darn Napkin!

We returned from holiday traveling on Tuesday at midnight to a house with no food and a thermostat reading 56 degrees. After our world tour and 40 hours in the mini, I have no funny, exciting or disgusting stories to tell. I am just thankful for a trip during which no one projectile vomited from across the vehicle into my bag, that we didn’t blow a trailer tire first on a bridge and then on the exit ramp, that my driving shift occurred during a section with no construction (meaning we didn’t get lost), and, for the first time, I am thankful for boys who poop a lot, which meant more than one potty break in a 12-hour stretch and stops that gave Avery and me a chance to consume a meal in the comfort of a Chick-Fil-A rather than from a moving vehicle.

While in my hometown, I attended the funeral of my ex-brother-in-law. Adding to the tragedy and sorrow of the family and friends was that he committed suicide, leaving no explanation. As I sat behind his mom, brother, daughter and ex-wife, I listened as the pastor attempted to release any person of the guilt imposed by such a death. He explained that in this young man’s case, as is the case with many suicides, there was something evil inside of him…that had eaten away at him for a long time. And, even though Jesus saved him 18 months prior, this evil had such a hold on him that it finally took his life.

On our 12-hour drive home, Keith and I listened to a sermon during which Matt Chandler of the Village Church spoke of a staff member who had recently committed suicide. We didn’t purposefully put it on. That’s just what we do: listen to sermons and books and have some good discussion afterwards. This topic just happened to come up. Anyway, a couple of things Chandler said really stuck out for me: 1) Jesus died on the cross to cover all sins: past, present and future, which includes suicide. 2) If you’re sick, get help. People run to doctors all the time for physical ailments. Why is there such a stigma associated with seeking help for mental illness? If you suspected a broken foot, would you let shame (or whatever) keep you from seeing a doctor? If so, it will never stop hurting and those crutches are going to slow you down quite a bit, keeping you from much of your everyday activity. Why would you go through life suffering from the crazies when there is help available? Whether it’s a minor broken bone or a few irrational thoughts, get help.

I will admit that even I have sought professional help for my mental wellbeing. No, I don’t suffer from depression. My issues stem from anxiety. I know you’re just shocked to learn that. When I first told Keith that I was “getting help,” he begged me not to. He said my neuroses were one of the reasons he fell in love with me. My response: I don’t want to feel like a crazy person anymore. It’s exhausting living life on the brink of insanity, just waiting for some tiny, inconsequential thing (like a napkin left on the ottoman overnight) to send me over a bridge.

On that note, I’m not suicidal either. Right now that bridge is merely metaphorical. However, there was a time when I was young…very young…and probably all the way through high school that I suppose you could call a good portion of my thought life suicidal. During those years I never would have admitted, and honestly didn’t believe, that I would ever follow through with it. But I devoted much of my mental energy on just how I would do “it.” All the different methods, which is the least painful, which is easiest to get, which would make the biggest statement, which would cause my family the least amount of suffering, would I leave a note, if so to whom. The list goes on. Even now I can’t believe how morbid this all sounds! And I was in elementary school when it began for crying out loud! Seriously, what kind of child, or person, thinks like that? A seemingly normal, stable person. That’s who! I mean, do I look like a crazy, suicidal gal to you? Don’t answer that.

This kind of thinking is not “normal.” Normal would mean it’s just fine and dandy. Like Christmas candy. But it probably is more common than anyone thinks. Bottom line, get help if you need it. Even if you think you don’t need it.

I definitely don’t mean to be Debbie Downer. So, here are a few more things for which I am thankful:

• A God who chose me and loved me enough to send his only Son so that I could live and have fellowship with Him.
• Jesus who died on the cross to cover my sins. All of them.
• A magnificent husband who is gifted in countless ways and who I believe could do ANYTHING. Marrying that boy has turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.
• Three disobedient children whom God uses daily to remind me of His love, mercy and grace.

If you are getting used to and possibly looking forward to pictures at the end of each post, I regretfully end this one with none. The only pictures I took over Thanksgiving were with other people’s cameras, and most of them included the kids with their extended canine family members. Still, adorable. Perhaps I will acquire them for a future post.

The Biggest Birthday Gift...Definitely Not the Best

A few weekends ago at the gym, Keith could not persuade me to work out with weights because 1) I wanted to finish re-reading a book while getting some mileage on the treadmill and 2) I just don’t want to work that hard. Ever. So, that is where my mind has been recently: NOT the treadmill, but on what has become one of my favorite parenting books, The Connected Child, authors Purvis, Cross and Sunshine. I have marked nearly every sentence as being of vital importance. Yes, I highlight while on the treadmill. I am a multi-tasker by nature, and, with my growing brood, efficiency of time is a must. Oh, it looks as if I were intoxicated while reading…and I have to pause the treadmill so often to pick up the dropped utensil that the experience doesn’t even count as cardiovascular exercise. Anyway, I bring it up because the book wraps up by talking about being emotionally present. The example given shows how a spouse can be emotionally present, or absent…and how we can be fully present for our children as well.

If a person is emotionally present, he: isn’t tangled up in his own needs, responds fully to you in your moment of tragedy or despair (which is the way I feel at 5:30 on most days…and some day’s I’ve reached that point by 7:02 A.M.), is a safe audience and an eager cheerleader for you, truly hears your concerns, encourages you to be the best you can be.

I list these for two reasons: 1)We all need reminders of how to be fully present to our kids and spouses. 2) I’ve been told this blog is too harsh on my husband at times. What! Okay…maybe. When I read the example of the emotionally present spouse and the list above, I immediately thought of Keith. Not waving my finger in the air in a “he should be this for me” way, but with a relaxing sigh in a “I am grateful and honored to have a husband who is this for me” way.

But before I fully redeem Keith, let me make sure that boy is good and run over.

Hmmm, I was going to list the many horrendous faults of my beloved, but I can’t think of any (well, not many) that I would change. So, maybe he leaves his boxers in the exact spot where he undressed, but seeing them reminds me to be less neurotic about the neatness and order of this house. Instead of being angry or jealous that he gets to sit with the kids in the short time between lunch and nap, I should join him. Forget the kitchen! God fearfully and wonderfully made Keith just the way he is. And, all of those tiny flaws that my flesh loves to point out are actually the reasons I fell in love with him. Well, plus the fact that he was the most godly man I knew. Ahhh. I’m so sweet, right? I know.

Okay, I have to tell one not-so-tiny and very horrible thing. And, although it occurred 10 years ago, I think of it every year on my birthday. With the celebration of that event coming to a close, indulge me for a moment. Six months into our marriage, Keith apparently had forgotten everything he learned about me during our 4-and-a-half year courtship. I arrived home one evening to find our small table topped with my birthday gifts and my least favorite cake, a store-bought birthday cake. Inside his careful and creative wrapping of Walmart bags were 3 items from my week’s grocery list: 2 oven mitts and rubber gloves for the kitchen. Oh, that’s not all he gave me that year. He did make me save the biggest for last, which was concealed by a giant black trash bag. Underneath? A new mesh laundry basket, which was another item on my grocery list. Wait! My gift was inside the laundry basket. Ta da!!! He had picked up all of his dirty clothes for me. Are those great presents or what? Worse? He actually thought they would be. And not just merely acceptable, but he was beaming with pride as he watched me open them.

I am totally serious. Keith gave me a laundry basket full of his dirty clothes for my first birthday after we were married. Whatever you are thinking, multiply it by about a thousand.

If you read my birthday post, you know he did a better job this year. But I may forever jump at the chance to tell that story.

In addition to checking off the list of the fully present spouse description, he also does my dishes. All of them. I wake up each morning to a kitchen that is ready for my tornado-like food preparation amidst the 3 life-draining leaches who sometimes will not give me an inch to breath and other times require a harness just to stay within my vicinity.

Let me brag for a moment if I may. He is well qualified in his career field and could have a great job (um, cha ching) in the big city, but he chooses to stay at good ole Yamaha just 3 miles down the road from our house. It may as well be at our back door. With a non-existent commute, most days we get to see him before work, during lunch, and no later than 5:30. With the exception of the last few weeks during which he took care of 2 turtles for his boss who was in Japan. Turtles who nearly ate us out of house and home by the way. I did get to see him at lunch but only as he ran through the kitchen stealing produce not only from the frig but from my plate as well. Some of you may think I’m crazy for wanting him here so much. Why not scoot him out earlier so we can party?

Well, the show at our house is more like a circus in training. We are far from being ready for public viewing. While I, the ringmaster, know what I’m doing, I need some backup from the person with more God-given authority. Although I read Water for Elephants, I'm not sure if that would be the general manager or the owner. Either way, Keith is that guy. Besides the fact that the voice of Daddy weighs far heavier than the voice of Mommy, he demands that they respect me…or at least act as if they do. Plus, instead of just repeating whatever request they are ignoring from me, he’ll say something like, “Okay, kids, Mommy just said to _____, so you need to ______ or receive the consequence.”

The first two weekends we were home, he took all 3 kids to the park alone so that I could rest and get groceries in peace.

If we have to take separate vehicles anywhere, he always offers to take the kids with him, giving me a rare moment of driving solo. On the boys' first trip to Krispy Kreme for instance, I set my cruise control on the minimum posted interstate speed, taking full advantage of my chance to act as the DJ in my own vehicle.

Even though he is clobbered by 3 tiny bodies who are screaming excitedly about their day, doing anything to get his attention, he repeatedly shakes them off one after the other until he reaches me. Why? "Mommy always gets the first hug," he tells them. Um, and kiss. Usually several of them...while we ignore their attempts to climb up our legs. Not gross. Just the way it should be.

Okay, I could go on, but you get the picture. I mean, all the stuff I have said previously about him is absolutely true…like his leaving me for worse than dead in the airport. But in the end, WHO HE IS far outweighs any goofy or even hurtful mistakes.

My Birthday Present

We're just over a month into our new family ventures, and already we have established a hint of normalcy. Just a hint though….because it is an absolute madhouse here. Not just most days, but every day. Even when the kids are in bed. Madhouse. However, the boys seem to fit right in with the ebb and flow of our daily routines. Well, we think they are fitting in...but I'm sure they wonder what all the fuss is about when I have a panic attack and pass out each time they make a move from the table with dirty hands.

The middle sis is really coming in handy. If she's not leading them by her example, she's doing so with explicit and precise instructions. In a tone that is all too familiar to Keith…as well as my former students. Still, like siblings who have been together from the beginning, they are quick to publicize, though few they are, her every infraction.

I knew it was inevitable, but have already I added the title of “Referee” to my Motherhood resume. We are not able to make it downstairs in the morning without my having to set up boundary lines with objects, put someone in Time Out or physically restrain or remove a child from any given location. The honeymoon is definitely over for these 3.

After the kids’ “rest time” yesterday, which is never that for me, I had to clean up 3 sets of urine and rescue a child who had fallen in the toilet after slipping on the urine of a sibling.

I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I did pick up a child who was covered literally from hair to sock in pee. Um, not before grabbing a towel of course! I wouldn’t dare touch that without a thick absorbent barrier. After carefully wrapping him in the towel, I comforted and cleaned the little guy off while shooing away the laughing hyenas in the hallway.

On that subject, I nearly peed my pants one night last week when Keith put Garris in Time Out…and he actually sat in the chair the whole time, which for now is a whopping 2 minutes. No screaming, kicking or walking away. I am grateful and a little pissed that he will at least sit there for someone, even if it isn’t me.

Tomorrow is my birthday. While I make everyone around me celebrate the event for at least a month, I only made one request to Keith: a day off. Ahh. He is granting my wish and has arranged for me to spend the day with 2 of my favorite girlfriends while he and another brave soul take care of all 7 children.

I am scared.

Not scared so much of what will happen to the kids. I’ve already been informed of the day’s agenda. Krispy Kreme to get them in a great mood with all the sugar and fat of a couple dozen doughnuts…followed by dumping the kids at the gym’s child watch…then the pool and a bike ride.

I’m scared of the state in which I will find my organized house and life upon my return. Every bag, craft, snack, etc. has a particular “home” so that I can find it easily next time I want to use it. Yes, I’m that girl. Keith says he hates it but relies on me to know where everything is. Honey, it’s not my day to keep up with that tiny piece of paper you claim to have had in your hand last month.

I tried to pass on some information to him regarding food, our routine and the contents of all 18 pool bags it takes us for each trip, but he did not want to listen. So, I am relinquishing control. This is a good step for me, The Control Nazi. In the same way, he tried to give me instructions tonight…on how to fold his clothes! In 10 years of marriage, tonight was the first night I have ever asked Keith to fold his own underwear and socks. I folded every other piece of laundry during the time he balled his socks. I learned that, even though I have folded hundreds of pairs of boxers each week, because he wears at least 5 pair a day (one for each category or mood), I could have been simply tossing them into his basket of clean laundry. Hours later, I am still baffled that in all this time, I have given him neatly folded undies that he basically unfolds before putting away.

Have I mentioned our communication problem?

We have a sitter and dinner reservations for tomorrow night’s date, but I’m not sure I’ll want to come home for it.

Man Eater

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but lately I have had this insatiable appetite for my family. I just can’t get enough of them. To the point that I literally want to eat them up. Well, maybe not literally. I am a stickler for rules, and I’m pretty certain there’s some antiquated law out there that prohibits cannibalism.

But I still want to eat ‘em. And, oh, how tasty they would be. All of them. Keith. Avery. Simon. Yep, even him. I tell Avery a dozen times a day that I wanna eat her up. Of course she giggles and begs me not to, so I refrain. Sometimes she starts the begging before my threats begin so I will lovingly chew on her squishy (and delicious) arm.

I was thinking this hunger could have grown from NOT SEEING MY DAUGHTER FOR 11 DAYS. I mean she’s still telling me how much she missed me while we were gone, and we’ve been home for 2 weeks now! But that theory doesn’t pan out when you consider the relentless craving I have for Keith and Simon. I tell those two how yummy they are as well.

I’ve always loved my family, but for some reason I just don’t want them out of my sight…or my arms. I hate it when Keith leaves for work, when I put Avery down for bed, and when Simon retires to bed earlier than me. My physical and mental well being hinge on how much of them I can consume when they’re near.

It may be strange to you non-dog people that I rock my dog, kiss his snout, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and love to inhale his scent…which has always resembled syrup. If he's not at my side, I coerce him. My affection for him waned with the birth of my daughter, until a few weeks ago. It’s back stronger than ever.

Have you seen anything more adorable?

I want to take naps with Avery, not for the sleep but just to hold and watch her. I’ve never been like that…one of those moms who lies in the bed as kids fall asleep. Lately I have to pull myself away from her bedside when I stop in for one last check before going to bed.

Not sure how I produced such a goofball, but I love it!

And, my husband. I’ll spare you the details of how I want to devour him. Okay, just one. A friend of mine says she wishes she could glue herself to her husband. Be with him all the time. I’ve never wanted that! How bizarre! This girl needs some quality ME time. But now, I wish I were a leach so I could just attach myself to Keith.

A man who will get a manicure. The best!

If I can’t have an arm, I will at least need some lips, a nose and an ear. Still no? One morsel is all I’m asking for!

Does anyone else find their loved ones as mouth-watering as I do mine?

The boys? Oh, I might even gobble them up before we bring them home. I’ve saved our latest adoption news for the end. While we completed our side in the Ethiopian court…said that we understand becoming parents of the boys is irrevocable and we agree to it, someone else has to permanently give up rights to the boys. It had already happened at other levels, same as us, but had to be done in person in front of a judge at the capitol. We were informed yesterday that this has happened. Yay!

Why didn’t I post this yesterday? I received the information about 10 P.M. last night. Delivered via email from my dear husband, even though we had been together all evening. Umm, communication.

Still can’t post pics yet. Sorry. We’re waiting on a letter to be received by the Ethiopian Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MOWA). They’re supposed to have it by March 11. Until then, you’ll just have to settle for pictures of the 4 of us.

Ethiopia: Day 4…Ah, The Weekend

A few people went shopping again. Another group went to some place with monkeys and hot springs. What did my sweet husband sign us up for? Work, of course. Ten years of marriage, so I should expect nothing less. Still, it’s Saturday for crying out loud!

Our labor site: Acacia Village, a foster home/soon-to-be everything else, run by our agency Christian World Adoption. Our labor: planting trees in the Ethiopian sun. Awesome.

When we arrived, I kindly asked if there was any task I could complete indoors so that my delicate skin could escape a scorching burn. So, while Keith planted trees, I sorted and folded at least a couple thousand pieces of children’s clothing in a stuffy room upstairs. I’m not complaining. I’ll take a lungful of dust any day over the pain of a sunburn that would likely hospitalize me. My only regret is that I left my ipod back in the room. We are so spoiled.

By the time our chores were completed, it was lunchtime. I had heard we would be served a traditional Ethiopian cuisine. Gulp. So I told them I wasn’t hungry. Turns out pasta is a staple here, and today it was spaghetti. The sauce looked iffy, so I went the safe route: dry noodles and bread.

Our driver was supposed to pick us up at 3, so Keith called to request he come at 2 since we finished early. Cars are a luxury here. People walk everywhere or take public transportation…blue and white vans, cars or 3-wheeled vehicles. They are the vast majority on the road. On the driving here, people are so friendly. If someone pulls out in front of you, it’s because he needs to cross that particular road, and you politely let him by slowing down or stopping your vehicle. Same for you. A line of traffic a mile long blocking you? That’s okay. Just go. They’ll stop. Pedestrians walk mere centimeters from speeding vehicles and never get hit. Well, I won’t say never, but I didn’t witness any. Also, no traffic lights or signs of any kind, including speed limits. What? But, no one gets road rage. They just go with the flow, literally. They’d never make it in the U.S.

We have drivers hired by our guest home or agency. Either way, communication is always run through a 3rd, 4th or 5th party to make arrangements. And, time is all but meaningless here, so we weren’t really surprised that our van didn’t show up until 4. That’s right, 2 hours late.

Luckily we made it back for a dinner of cabbage and tiny, very chewy beef tip stir-fry plus rolls that should really be saved for a game of golf. I ate 2 and a half granola bars.

Ethiopia: Day 2…a.k.a. My Near-Death Experience

Nothing technically on the agenda for the day, so Keith arranged for the two of us to go help out at an orphanage/missions base run by our agency called Acacia Village. However, the rest of our group wanted to go shopping, so we blindly followed them. This group consisted of 8-10 adults with the same court date as us, our driver and our interpreter…and I use that term loosely, as we didn’t always understand him. So, even though we felt blind going into most of our ventures, at least we weren’t alone.

We did some shopping in an area known to the locals as the Post Office…very much like the market in Mexico or China. Same stuff, different store. We bought some gifts for the boys and a dress for Avery. Oh, I picked up some Ethiopian coffee pot earrings…you know, to represent the sacred ceremonial coffee that I so rudely denied.

I had felt sick all morning but chalked it up to the altitude. We’re about 8,300 feet here (fun fact: it’s the 3rd highest capital city in the world). No clue what Atlanta is (1,000 feet +/-100)¹, but the change totally kicked my butt. So, I assumed I had altitude sickness, extremely fatigued, parched and generally not feeling well. Later that afternoon something hit me, and I ended up in the bathroom unable to move a muscle. Seriously. I couldn’t open my eyes to see Keith or even open my mouth to convey to him just how near death I knew I was. Literally near death. When my nurse left me in the bathroom, I hoped he either went to call for help or at least was googling my ailment. Nope. When I eventually recovered, I found him checking email, oblivious to my dire condition. Thanks, Honey.

No clue what made me so sick. But, I figure it didn’t kill me, so I may as well eat the food, knowing if I do get sick again I’ll likely recover.

Speaking of the food, it hasn’t been as bad as I imagined. That’s saying a lot considering my standards. Nothing too Ethiopian. Spaghetti (no meat and way spicier than the norm), fried chicken (how much more American can you get?), French toast (which was deep fried in butter…Mmmm), seasoned potatoes and carrots. Not too shabby, especially considering I haven’t had to do any of the cooking.

¹ Note from Keith: All altitudes researched by him…and he calls me “scientific accuracy.”