Moving Right Along...

Dan and I started dating November 4, 1999. By the end of November we had said the "I Love You"s that usually took longer to say.  By January we had planned a future together.  We were engaged January 15, and then married May 13, 2000. 

In 2003, We heard about a job at the RMH one day... the next day I applied, and soon we were packing boxes to move.

February 2008, we looked at our current house for the first time.  At the end of the visit, we told the owners that we wanted to buy the house. No major discussions, no weighing pros and cons for weeks on end... we knew that it fit what we wanted in size and price, so we said yes.

We don't do slow.

When things make sense, we act quickly.

Last fall, things started to fall apart at Dan's job.  He began putting feelers out and knew that he'd soon be looking for a new employer. We had NO intention to leave Winston-Salem. While we originally thought this was just a stop on the road for residency, it has been home to us for 17 years. This is where my children came home to- from both the hospital and from another birth mother. This is where I sat beside my mother as she died. This is where I grew into my life as an adult. It's where we found lifelong friends who walked with us through joy and pain. It's where my home has been filled with family and friends time after time. The only time we thought about moving was when we prayed about moving to Arizona with our friends to help plant a church. (At that time, my Mom's care was still local, so it wasn't an option.)

This time, though, as Dan was looking at multiple job options, I said... "What about broadening your search?" Immediately I envisioned us living in my WNC mountains. I started thinking about regular hang outs with my childhood friends and breakfasts at Biscuit Head on the regular. Dan started researching... and then applying.

During these conversations- something happened that I can only regard as prompting from the Holy Spirit. I uttered the words: "What about Wilmington?"

Those of you who know me know that this is as far from my comfort zone as I could imagine. Living that far from Asheville? Away from my friends here? What in the actual hell was I thinking. Which again is why I have to assume it was the Spirit prompting me to offer.

Dan looked at my like I had 4 heads and said "Are you being serious?" My Eastern NC husband has forever been in love with that end of the state and would love nothing more than to live in Hampstead- in a home he helped his father build in the late 80s.

He started looking at jobs there, and quickly things started falling into place.

AND he got an offer in the mountains. When I said to him "I don't think you're supposed to take it," I wondered, too, if I had lost my mind.

Fast forward through all of the details and contractors and more details and house prep both here and in Hampstead... and we are moving. Dan is in the process of saying yes to an employer who has made a wonderful offer for him professionally... and I am in the process of losing my mind with all of the details that I have to juggle to get us to Wilmington.

We will move sometime this summer. Dan's last day at Daymark is June 14- then he and Eliza (my child formally known as Elizabeth) will head with a group from her school to Europe for a whirlwind trip. We are still planning on Wild Goose and a beach vacation (ha! booked before we knew we were heading to the coast!) and Eliza will still go to DukeTIP for camp. Other than that we have no idea what will happen when.

We will be living in Hampstead, a suburb of Wilmington, in the house Dan helped build which overlooks the Intercoastal Waterway. Our house is "across" from Topsail Beach. Please come visit.

In the meantime, we'll be packing and crying and celebrating and crying some more about leaving behind this town that we love so much. We're grateful to have your prayers in this process... it's a lot.

Eliza is thrilled about a fresh start... Julianna is apprehensive that she will leave behind some of her toys. Dan is excited about being "home"... and I am excited about a new chapter, a chance to focus on my writing some more, and a lovely wrap around screened in porch. Please come visit. Did I say that already?

I'd love to have a cup of coffee with you on the porch where we'll have this view... and we can sit and talk long enough to switch over to other beverages later in the day.  And maybe then I can give you even more details of the story and you'll understand why I've dropped so many balls the last few months. Or maybe, we'll just be together and the salt air will make us forget it all.

two months... two years...

I CANNOT believe our sweet friend has been with us for 2 months.

2 months of remembering what it's like to function without sleep.  (We've about mastered that... zeesh.)
2 months of remembering how amazing those coo's are when she babbles.
2 months of asking each other "wait... when do they do ___?" because we can't seem to remember.
2 months of loving one of the dearest souls we know.
2 months of joy.
And goodness.
And hard times.
And sweet times.
And tears.
And fun.

So that's it, right?  There's our update?

Nope.

Because life just keeps coming at us.

Today, Dan and I drove with the Wee One to Mars Hill to meet a mover about moving some things here from my Grandparents' house... which will be sold within a couple of weeks.

The gravity of that hit me yesterday.

At the same time as the unbearable pain thinking about next week... the second anniversary of Daddy's death.

2 years of moments where he should have been here.
2 years of times I almost called him to tell him a story... or ask him a question... or call for a recipe... or to tell him something funny Elizabeth had done.
2 years of days when my heart hurt.
2 years of missing part of me.
2 years absent of my biggest fan.

Yesterday as I thought of closing the house up in Mars Hill... I felt sorry for myself.  Truly.  I have closed up THREE homes of my childhood in the last 18 months.  And I am DONE.  I am so super sad that I have no more "roots" in WNC.  And while I am BEYOND blessed with friends who are like family, let's all be honest... on the holidays, people go home to their own families.

I cried buckets of tears yesterday.  About closure.  And grief.  And missing Stan.  And missing Mary.  And missing Mom.  And being overwhelmed.

So today, as we were talking with the mover, I told him I was just over it.  I was sad that this was the second time we were using his services in 4 months.  And that I was sad I was saying goodbye again.  And that I didn't have roots anymore.

And he looked at me... and at the wee one in my arms... and said, "Yeah, but look at all the Good you're Doing with this little one.  She needs you right now."

Ahem.

Indeed.

On this International Happy Day... fresh from a big ol' dose of "Get it Together, Lady" from my mover... I'd love to tell you what I'm happy about.

*That I've had 2 months with this Sweetie.  (See above.)
*That she's growing and eating and sleeping and laughing tons more than when we met her.
*That my big girl is growing, too, into a kind big sister... something we never thought she'd get to be.
*That I got to "smell" my grandparents today in their belongings... and that feels like home.
*That tomorrow night I get to hang out with some amazing women.
*That I have friends who have consistently checked on us throughout this last 2 months... and these last 2 years.  (It does take a village, y'all.)

For those things, I am thankful.  And for the moments when the sadness of 2 years missing my Daddy overshadow the happy of the 2 months (or 2 days, or 2 hours...) I will not offer apology.  I will continue this journey authentically even when it sucks... yet I will try to graciously accept the kind words of movers everywhere who want to point out the Good.

Happy Happiness Day, y'all.

2 weeks.

2 weeks ago, we went to meet a sweet baby girl.  One in the Foster system.  One who needed a little love.

2 weeks ago, we left that meeting smitten with her cuteness, but unsure what would be next.  We did, however, stop by Target to pick up a few things she could use just in case she came to live with us.

2 weeks ago, we told our agency that we'd love her to come join us... but that we were getting ready to head to Walt Disney World and that just wouldn't make sense to bring Little One with us.  We told them that as soon as we got home from our visit with The Mouse, we'd love to have her join us.

2 weeks ago, the family she was staying with had some pretty serious illness pop up and they had to remove her... immediately.  We got the call that we either take her now- and take her with us to Disney- or we don't get to have her join us at all.  The agency wasn't able to move her twice.

2 weeks ago, in the time span of a couple hours, we said emphatically "yes" to a sweet little one... and pulled a crib down from the attic... and prepared E even further for our family's changes... and reached out to a few friends to ask for some help.

2 weeks ago, friends showed up with clothes and swings and food and toys and helped us prepare for the days ahead.

2 weeks ago, a couple of social workers and some people who had loved her well showed up at our house.  We opened the door- unsure what was next- and this sweet little thing began to fill up our world with joy.

2 weeks ago, we were rested.  And organized.  And anticipating a low-key trip with some of our dearest friends.  And "in control" of the space around us.  And content with our life.

And now...

We are not rested.
Or organized.
Or in control of anything.

But we are content.

To answer all of the questions:
-We aren't sure how long she will be with us, but we are hoping for many, many days to come.
-We aren't sure of all the details of why she's in Care, but all we need to know is that she needs our love right now.  And... we wouldn't be able to share details even if we did know.
-Yes, we still had a great trip to WDW with those dear friends.  Little One did great.  And Miss E had a super time, too.


2 weeks ago, we didn't see this coming.  But on this side of those 2 weeks, we're thankful for the journey.

Giving Grace: a Hall Pass for the Holidays

Just before Christmas 2005, Dan and I were in the waiting room of our Fertility Clinic awaiting yet another round of "trying."  I had been a regular in this room for months by this point, so not much of the reading material was new... except for a pamphlet they had out that talked about "Protecting Your Heart During the Holidays."  I read through it and felt as though someone understood our struggle.  It talked about giving yourself grace during a season that could be potentially difficult.  It mentioned giving yourself permission to skip walking by the Santa in the mall and seeing all the happy families with sweet babies waiting to see him.  It went as far as to say that if being around your own niece and nephews would be too hard, to excuse yourself from that year's holiday celebration.  While I was not about to walk away from our family's traditions, I imagined that having that "hall pass" was helpful to some people even further down the road than we were.

The "protecting your heart" theme has run rampant in my life in the last 2 years, and especially since we lost our baby in April.  I have had conversations with friends who have new precious children in their lives and apologized that I've not been in a place where I've been able to love upon them yet.  I've struggled with buying baby gifts- not at all because I begrudge them their happiness, but because at moments I've still been drowning in our own sorrow.  Friends who were due the same time I was, in full disclosure, were hard for me to see.  As their baby bellies grew and then became amazing miracles in their families, all that was growing for me was the vacant space in my heart.

Through the years, that brochure has popped back into my mind on occasion.  There have been moments that while they are non-baby related, I've relied on those same words.  In 2010, I was about six weeks out from losing my Stepmother to cancer, and I found myself stuck in a room where people were making jokes about death and dying.  I piped in and asked if we could change the subject.  I'm sure that it was not intentional, but my pain from that recent loss wasn't on the forefront of their minds.  They continued a discussion about "donating (someone's) body to science"... at which point I left the room.  In that moment, rather than lash out at those speaking, I instead needed to excuse myself.  Grace.

Pain seems to hover just at the surface of the holidays for so many people.  I remember one Christmas Party my family hosted in the early 90's- a friend came who had recently lost her husband.  My Mom was playing "The Carpenters' Christmas Album", and "I'll Be Home For Christmas" came on.  Very gently and tactfully, our friend asked my Mom to skip that song.  When Mom skipped ahead to "Merry Christmas, Darling" and saw a similar look of pain in our friend's eyes, she jumped ship and moved on to The Beach Boys instead.

So with all of that hurt ready to erupt during "the most wonderful time of the year", I give you your very own hall pass.  While you may not need to use it now, please understand that someone in your life might... and please accept their pass with grace and and understanding of all that it took to have them present it to you.

HOLIDAY HALLPASS
-Too hard to be around kids because you find yourself longing for one or missing one of your own?  Say no to the activity that will cause yourself pain.  The kindhearted people who invited you will understand your need to miss a year.

- Miss your spouse/partner/ex so much it hurts? Skip the "Couples Only" event where there will be lots of laughter and memories shared in lieu of some pampering just for yourself.

- Can't be around certain family members because they say hurtful things?  Excuse yourself from those painful situations.  It's okay.  They're family.

- Don't feel like hosting even though you always do and people expect it?  Let someone else take on that burden this year.  Shoot, go out to eat for once!  It's one year- people will survive.

- Just don't think you can handle one more sad holiday at home?  As a wise friend said to me last week- "I knew I'd be sad at Christmas, so I told my husband I'd rather be somewhere sad... and WARM."  Take off!  Get out of town!  Or even take a day trip to get you out of that memory drenched location.

- Old traditions too hard to handle because someone won't be there?  Make new traditions!  One of my favorite holiday traditions- our neighborhood Christmas party- was started because my Dad had just moved out and Mom wanted to do something fun and new.  She succeeded... even with the occasional music fail.

Now one caveat in the way of a warning: just like "Baby Blues", sometimes "Holiday Blues" are a much deeper seated issue.  Rather than just escape or hide or run- if you are at a place of significant pain, please get professional help.  Don't know who to talk to?  Message me- I have good connections with some mental health professionals.

Protect your heart this Christmas.  Use the Hall Pass when you need to.  Accept the Hall Pass when it's given to you.  Give grace, receive grace.

And God bless us... everyone.

Bradshaw Lane

I've been a little MIA on the interwebs lately.  It seems that the stress of selling Mom's house has caught up with my body and I'm still fighting a week long cold.  As I shared some of my last few weeks with someone today, it's no wonder that I'm sick... my body just couldn't keep going at the pace I was pushing it.  So I'm going to allow myself to slowly process where we've been and where we're going.  For now, I'll share with you the note I left the owners of Mom's new place.  Warning: it's lengthy...  And a bit sappy.

Congratulations on your new house!  I hope that it quickly becomes your home and that you fall in love with 11 Bradshaw Lane like we did.  Not to force my story upon you, but I thought I would tell you a bit about it’s history...

My parents bought the house from Walt and Becky McCullough in the early 70’s.  I’m not sure if Walt and Becky were the original owners.  One of their 3 children, Natalie, was my Sunday School teacher when I was in Middle School and shared with me which of her siblings had what bedroom.

My brother, Chris, was a toddler when they moved from Woodfin and I was brought home from the hospital to my bedroom (the one beside the master) in December of 1975.  I never had another home growing up- nor did I ever switch bedrooms.  I left Candler for college in 1994, and only came home a few summers after that.  Around 2000, Mom turned my room into a den.  (My brother’s room- the one beside the hall bathroom- stayed a bedroom during our tenure here.  Not that I’m bitter or anything.)

My Daddy was responsible for the fabulous backyard at your new home.  He landscaped the steps- I often played wedding there and dreamed of my own backyard wedding.  I ended up not getting married there, but as you watch the light come in through the trees in the mornings, you’ll see why I was enraptured by the beauty of the woods.  He put in a hammock- complete with a spotlight which would be blinding to unsuspecting teenagers, and which only was turned on if a “warning” needed to be shared.  The swings he built were my respite- and I still would swing on them even through high school.  The Pièce de résistance in the yard, though, is the treehouse.  My Daddy and Papaw built that around 1980.  I helped by bringing them glass after glass of grape Kool-aid.  My brother and I played in it, my Daddy escaped to it, and it became a sought out location for (only the bravest of friends) summertime sleepovers- complete with spiders.

The house itself is full of great rooms and wonderful memories.  The room beside my brother’s was our Playroom that became a Computer Room that became a sort of Guest Room later in life.  My Mom worked in I.T., so were were one of the first families to have a PC at home.  My brother’s friends monopolized that during their visits.  I spent hours developing my skills on King’s Quest and Frogger, then later began using the computer to type letters to my pen pal in Wisconsin and as I toyed with my growing love affair of writing.

Mom and Daddy’s room housed a king sized bed which all 4 of us would pile on during special Saturday mornings.  Daddy would bring our portable black and white TV from the kitchen, put it on their dresser, adjust the antenna, and we’d watch Bugs Bunny while snuggled beneath their green blankets.  It was under those same blankets- and any others we could get our hands on- where Mom and I burrowed deep during the Blizzard of 93.  Our house was without power for days and got ridiculously cold.  (And boring.)  Ultimately, we were taken by sled (with the help of neighbors) to a nearby house on Monte Vista with a generator so that I could have a breathing treatment... and the best dinner of Shake and Bake chicken that I’ve ever eaten.  Nearly a week of canned peaches and Ritz crackers will make Shake and Bake taste like a 5-star meal.

The bathroom in the Master was Daddy’s- his smell of cologne, hair spray, and (gasp!) cigarettes is one that will bring tears to my eyes when I catch it now at certain bars.  (For the record, he started smoking outside in about 1983 when my pulmonary specialist “suggested” that maybe smoking around his highly asthmatic daughter wasn’t the best idea.)  When he moved out in 1989, Mom took over the bathroom and the scent changed to one of Ultima II makeup, Windsong powder, and Vaseline lotion.  

Mom had the bathrooms redone shortly after Daddy left.  Those bizarre low and quiet toilets were all the rage in 1990.  My friends loved coming in the bathroom and just flushing to watch it work.  My brother and I shared the hall bathroom at that point- I had the drawers on the right, his were on the left.  Our bathroom began to smell of curling irons and crimpers, Rave hairspray, LA Looks gel, and whatever girlie perfume was popular in that moment.  Chris left for college in 1991, so his scent never had a chance to permeate that room like all of the ones I enlisted to make my high school years perfect.

And speaking of those teen years, the downstairs den was the ideal location not only for sleepovers, but for tucking away with boyfriends in hopes not to be seen from upstairs.  There was only one spot where we could hide completely, so that was the spot we best not be in as Mom walked by on her security patrols upstairs.  I spent hours down there watching Monty Python with friends, watching my first presidential debates, and sitting by the fireplace on snow days.  Not to mention the time out on the patio porch swing- the exact location of silly homemade videos with best friends or stolen kisses with boys I haven’t seen in 20 years.

Our living room and dining room were revered in our family to be “special” rooms just for company.  We spent time in there on holidays or whenever we had visitors.  Our Christmas tree went front and center in the living room’s window and I spent tons of time mesmerized by it’s lights and by the train that encircled it’s base.  As we got older, we were “allowed” more time in those rooms and I enjoyed feeling so grown up as I would sit and read in the living room.  The one exception made when I was younger was that I was allowed in to practice piano.  Which I still wish I had listened to my mother and not stopped taking lessons.  

The woods surrounding the house lend themselves to unlimited exploration and enjoyment all throughout my childhood.  In the spring, little red berries and purple violets appeared to take over and bring life back from a dark winter.  Chris and I picked flowers, played spy, and developed our own Terabithia within the walls of the limbs.  We ran through the field behind the house and played in the creek- furthering my love of nature and developing my “non-wussy-girl” status among the neighborhood boys.  We explored and played together in the spring, summer, and fall and sledded together through the winter.

And speaking of winter- one quick suggestion: My Daddy planted bamboo as a privacy barrier between our house and the one next door.  On snowy days, the bamboo will bow down under the weight of snow and ice.  It’s beyond a pain to lift each stalk and pull your car out, but without that, the bamboo will break.  I’d suggest cutting it back before it turns so cold you have to deal with that inconvenience.  

I hate that because of the later stages of my Mom’s illness and her departure from the house that the “grounds” weren’t presented to you in their best state.  While the house is wonderful, the yard and woods will cause you to fall in love with your home.  I hope that as the Easter Bush blooms this spring and you are able to entertain on the deck, you’ll see glimpses of all of the egg hunts and cookouts and parties and memories as they float around you.

And my room.  While now the closet space leaves a lot to be desired, back in the day there was nothing I didn’t like about my room.  I apologize if the door isn’t in the best shape- it was slammed many times in teenage angst.  It was covered in bumper stickers (Ollie North for President!) and posters (Michael Jackson and Michael J. Fox to name a few.)  It was my respite from parents who didn’t understand me, from parents who separated, from a brother who annoyed his little sister, and an escape to spend hours on the phone with friends.  It was where I sat and journaled and read.  Where I laid in bed sick.  Where I grew up.  And before all that it was where I would climb up on my green toybox and look out the window waiting for Daddy to come home for lunch- a midweek treat.  I’d open the window all summer long (you’ll note that air conditioning only arrived a few years ago) and smell the scent of the woods and hear the call of the birds each day.  I’d nearly burn down the house there as I played with matches in second grade- and then proceed to lie about it to my Mom while she could see the paper smoldering in the trash can.  It’s the same room where I first began reading the Bible and started to figure out for myself what I believed.  And, ultimately, it was the same room where I sat at the desk and typed my Daddy’s obituary last year.  That room holds my memories, my tears, and part of my heart.

I hope that you will love this house nearly half as much as we do.  If you look at it from the driveway, it almost appears to smile.  My mother continues to ask about her home (as she constantly wants to return there and doesn’t understand that her Assisted Living transition is permanent.)  We always tell her that we’re sure that things are “fine” in Candler and that her house is okay without her there.  It’s my hope that as we continue to tell her that when she asks that her house would be more than just “fine”.  My hope for you is that her house... your house... will be quite wonderful.

the wonder of it all.

Today was a day for the books.  I nailed it.  I was so productive that I'm about to get in bed... and it's not even 7:00 yet.

Apart from my productivity (which I now refuse to document on here, lest I jinx my life) (and yes, I may be a wee bit superstitious from past experience), today stood out because of the roller-coaster-ness of it all.

Our pre-bus time was great this morning.  E woke up on the right side of the bed (surprisingly, since she went to bed so super late) and we enjoyed a cooked breakfast before school.  Cooked Breakfast doesn't always happen.  There's usually cereal, and 80% of the time she's finishing it at the bus stop.  But this morning, we had time- shower and all- for her to enjoy a more filling option.

I came in from the bus stop feeling my "I nailed it" High and got on Facebook.  Within moments I learned the tragic news that my home church family was hurting.  Death is never easy, especially when it's one so young.  My heart plummeted into the "there is so much sadness in this world" realm... I am grieving with you, Hominy Baptist.

I worked on uploading the pictures that my friend John had sent of items in my Mom's house.  Rather than head home to take pictures of items we have for sale, I emailed one of my oldest friends and asked him for a favor.  As I uploaded pictures, I was comforted by the love I've gotten from my second family... the past 2 years (and the 35 before that) when I've needed something they have been the first to arrive with helping hands.  I can only imagine that E will have that same kind of connection with one of her oldest friends, too.  Preschool connections are beautiful... we both are blessed to have them.

Thankfully, I've had lots of friends check in on me as I've posted details about closing up my Bradshaw Lane world.  While Monday threw me for a loop, today was less rough as I went about details about moving.  And as people started buying furniture, I knew that it was a blessing that the first 3 pieces to go were purchased by people I love so much.  One by my 2nd grade best friend, one by my high school BFFs sister (and the older sister that I coveted), and one by someone who is one of Mom's caretakers here.  It feels like Doing Good to pass things on to loved ones and not "just" selling them at a yard sale.  (But we're not above that.  Need some random furniture?  Let me know!)

I left that task feeling accomplished and encouraged and went on to my main task of the day.  Part of it was overwhelming, part of it was thrilling to finally have some organization to a previously messy part of my life.  And during it, a message popped up that one of my besties got AMAZING news today regarding her adoption process.  Such beauty in the midst of sadness.

I then went into full on Business Mode and made more phone calls on Mom's behalf... I am thankful to have time in my day to knock these things out.  They aren't "fun", but as I've said before, I feel like I'm honoring her life by taking good care of her affairs.

Shortly after (yes, the day went that fast) a sweet first grader ran off the bus full of stories of today's field trip.  We enjoyed catching up while I fixed dinner.  And then my sum-total of today hit me.  I was standing over the oven- looking at what I was cooking.  Normally, my meals "make sense" and fit together nicely.  We usually have dishes that would make sense in a menu-planning session.  But tonight's meal didn't.  Without thinking much about it, I prepared my Daddy's spaghetti sauce and my Mom's broccoli casserole.  I've never made those two dishes together- usually we'd have a salad or steamed broccoli if anything.  But tonight it felt right.  And I'm not surprised.  Sometimes, even your subconscious needs a little bit of home and it comes out in comfort food.

While we ate dinner tonight, I reflected on the sadness- and the happiness- of my day.  Broccoli casserole and spaghetti may not go together, but neither do tragic death and joyful adoptions.  Neither do Power of Attorney work and making chocolate chip pancakes.  Well, we don't seem to think they go together... but in this twisted up world we live in, they do.  I won't try to explain it... at this point I won't even try to understand it... but sometimes dishes go together and life goes together and emotions go together and it all just happens.

Family.

In the months of August and September, I was fortunate enough to take 3 trips with my family.

Weekend One: Girls Weekend
Anyone who spends anytime with me gets to hear about "My best friends from preschool on... the twins... Misty and Christy."  We met at Hominy Baptist Preschool when we were 3-ish and have been friends ever since.  Seriously- a 32-ish year friendship is nothing to joke about!  Having best friends who are twins teaches you a lot about how friendships ebb and flow.  One year I would be "closer" to Misty, the next I would be "closer" to Christy.  In school it typically depended who I had more classes with, or- more importantly- who I had lunch with (and could share a baked potato with, right Christy?)  We've been through just about everything together- Girl Scouts (and camp!), break-ups, divorces, Senior Week, death, weddings, arm amputations (well, really only one... I don't need to make that plural), miscarriages, babies, and lots of chocolate chip cookie dough in the middle.

When Mary died, the girls gave me a gift certificate to a spa to get a much needed massage.  The beauty of redeeming this gift was that I convinced them to go with me... so the three of us went to Asheville (our hometown!) together.. something we'd never done before.  Our weekend was filled with laughter, food, wine, a bus tour, amazing spa treatments, laughter, and some more laughter.  It's a beautiful thing to have people who love you like family.

Weekend Two: Roadtrip to Tennessee
My brother and his wife moved to Tennessee over a year ago when Katherine became a professor at Sewanee.  They recently bought a beautiful house there- so at the end of August my Dad, Elizabeth, and I went to visit them.  Seeing them was wonderful, but the trip itself was just as good.  I hadn't realized how little E knew of Daddy- in her nearly 5 years of life he's been dealing with 5 of his hardest years with his own cancer and Mary's.  Friday night when we checked in our hotel, E said "Mommy, I really like Dadaw... I mean I really like him!"  My heart stayed full that weekend with both of them enjoying each other.

Weekend Three: Rwanda Reunion
I had planned to sum up our camping trip for you with loads of words about what an amazing reunion this past weekend was... but Elizabeth Rutledge beat me to it on her blog.  The two families who traveled together, lived life together, adopted together, and were changed together got to see each other for the first time since we returned back in June.  It was a perfect reunion- no pressure to do anything but enjoy each other.  The kids played and played- and we laughed about things that didn't feel as funny 3 months ago.  I still feel so incredibly honored to have been a part of this experience- and loved being with this part of my family this weekend.

Family... they know you best and love you most.  I am blessed to be part of an amazing family- both related by blood and by tears.  You make me who I am and are walking beside me as that person is growing.  You walk beside me when I need company and give me space when I don't.  You surround me with your love and help me process life.  My space in this world is rich and full and happy because of my family... thanks be to God.

Ihavenewsandnowe'renotpregnant.

I feel like that is the mantra I've been saying on repeat over and over the last little bit...

"I have news... and no, we're not pregnant."

Over the last 4 years, well, really... since the day we left the hospital... people have been asking us if we're going to have another child.  Really, people?  See this 3 day old baby in my arms that took 4.5 years to "get"?  Why don'tcha let me enjoy her for a bit and then I'll get back to you...

More and more as people around us were having their 2nd, 3rd, 4th child while we were stilling hanging with "just" E, we got the question more and more.

24 days ago... we got our answer.

God has been prompting Dan for years that we need to be a foster family.  Since his first psych rotation, he knew this was something we were supposed to do.  I, however, totally disagreed with that.  While I thought it was a great idea in theory, I thought it was a great idea for someone else.  I told Dan repeatedly that the worst day of my year was always the last day of camp when I had to say goodbye to all my brand new BFFs through tears and snot-filled hugs.  So how on earth was I supposed to open up my home to a child who needs love in big ways, love them, then send them "back" to what could potentially be a harmful situation?

No, thank you.

Dan, being the sweet and patient man that he is, waited on me.  He continued to mention it... and continued to pray.  And while he was gently nudging me, God decided to smack me in the face.  (So thankful it was Dan nudging and God smacking me in the face, or the adjectives I'd use to describe Dan would not be "sweet" or "patient"...)

24 days ago, with barely any sleep after our return from the Happiest Place on Earth, we went to church.  (We are so godly.)  During a sermon given by- of all people- one of my best friends who happens to be married to my bestie, God started stirring something big.  Dan and I went home to debrief the sermon and found that He had been stirring the same thing in both of us.  (Want the longer version of this story?  Invite us over for a glass of wine and we'll debrief.)  During the conversation about what home renovations we though we were being prompted to make, I casually asked Dan "Do you think we're supposed to have more babies?"  (Because, like the general public, I'm curious about this, too.)  Sweet and patient Dan responded with, "Yes... but I don't know that you're supposed to give birth to them."  Unsure whether he was talking about adoption or fostering, we talked, cried, prayed... and jumped full-on into the world of the unknown.

Here are some of those unknowns I'll be happy to not-answer for you now:

• Will we get more than one kid?  Perhaps.
• What agency are we using?  Dan keeps saying we're "dating" a couple now, trying to decide which one to settle down with.  We've narrowed it down to 3 (2, really)... so that counts for something, right?
• When will we "get" a child?  Who knows.  Upon finishing the application, there's 30-ish hours of training left to happen, then inspections, then placement.  Could be within a few months, could be longer
• Do we know the ages of the child/children? (See above since we don't know the answer to our second question, the answer to this one is... nope... but yes, we can submit a preference.  We just have no idea what that would be right now.)
• Would we adopt if the kids became available for that?  We'll let you know when God tells us, but if you ask us, we'd say yes.
• Are we worried about letting go?  Yes.  But have you met me?  I don't so much let people leave my life easily...
• How does Elizabeth feel about this?  Don't know yet... we're still keeping it on the down-low.  I feel certain she'll have something great to say.  Already she busted out (3 days after our "decision") that we needed a new car... maybe a mini-van... that could haul around more people.  I'm telling you, that kid's neat.  And, ps, we'd appreciate it if you don't tell Elizabeth yet, either.
• 8. Are you scared?  Nope.  Nervous?  Sure.  Excited?  Abso-freakin-lutely.

If you've picked up on my FB posts about "re-purposing rooms" and wondered if I'm pregnant and we're setting up a nursery... well, we're not, but you're close.  And if you've wondered why I've been a little AWOL on my blog... well, this is it.  We wanted to have a chance to tell our families first before we blurted it out on the InterWebs.  So one trip to Wilmington and one trip to Asheville down... here's our latest.

We welcome your prayers and your support over the next leg of our journey.  We are not naive- we are well aware that this will be hard.  But if our Jesus is who He says He is, we'll get through it together.  Can't wait for the adventure...

Gifts

*No worries... this is not a blog post about how people should or should not "do" Christmas gifts.  There are loads of you who are likely still unwrapping the piles of gifts at your home.  There are also some of you have chosen to forgo traditional gifts and instead spent today making homemade soap and weaving baskets for the needy.  I am equally jealous of both traditions.*

Merry Christmas, Bloggitty Blog World.

Today has been for us, well, near perfect.  Many of you have felt the same way.  (Thanks to FB, I feel like I celebrated Christmas with many of you, too.)  The snow in NC set the stage for some magical Christmas moments.

This year, the Johnston family took a new spin on Christmas gifts.  Because of my love of all things gift-giving (like, seriously, I lurve giving and receiving gifts), we decided it was time to reign things in before they got out of control with Miss E.  While I am not disciplined enough to subscribe to the soap-making bent, I whole-heartedly understood my need to reel things in a bit.  We stole borrowed this idea from someone else, and it fit our family perfectly.  Each of us (E, Dan, and myself) received 4 gifts: Something you want, Something you need, Something to wear, and Something to read.  Glory.  Shopping with a purpose?  A theme?  Bring it on.

The majority of gifts for E and Dan centered around our upcoming Disney trip (or their mutual love of all things Disney).  My gifts were, quite honestly, some of the most special- and thoughtful- that I've gotten.  The surprise gift (Dan and E both totally had me fooled on this!) was my first (and second, and third) piece(s) of art from Sam, The Dot Man.  Super.  Tears.  Perfect.

So, given that there were only 12 gifts to open amongst us (and Santa brought the 2 things E'd asked for), the frenzy of present opening in our house was over rather quickly.  It's amazing to me that when the last gift is opened my heart immediately reverts to how it did when I was E's age and realized the last gift had been opened... in full disclosure, I have a moment of sadness.

We inventoried our "loot", ate breakfast with my mom, then sadly told her goodbye as she headed west in hopes of beating the snow.  Before I even had a chance to feel sad with our quiet house... it happened.  My Christmas Gift began:

Peace.

Rest.

Joy.

Through the drama and the fun of the last few weeks, God knew I needed some rest.  And today, of all days, He gave me the gift of it.  We laid on the couch.  We watched movies.  We organized our purses... okay, that was just me.  We bathed our dogs.  We listened to a Snow White CD in E's room... multiple times.  We snacked.  We ate.  We laughed.  We kissed.  We hugged.

And that, my friends, was a gift.

I have always longed for a big family.... a house full at the holidays.  And, yes, over a period of time, we've had that full-house.  But today- on the day of my Lord's birth- He gave me what I needed rather than what I thought I wanted.  He gave me peace.  And with it I got rest.  And with that, I got joy.

My delightful daughter was the perfect picture of a child on Christmas today.  She wore her PJs all day and played with her toys 'til she could hardly play anymore.  My Christmas gift to you is to share with you some of her loveliness... butt crack and all.  In this scene, she was taking her new "Tangled" doll outside to play with her.  Well, that's what I thought was happening, which is why I asked her if she needed a coat.

After the shot ended, she told me that was all she wanted to do... she just needed to take her doll outside because (she thought) it sings "now I see the sun"... and she wanted God to hear it.  (Hence, the raising to doll toward heaven.)

Joy to the world.  Merry Christmas to all.

Best Dinner Conversation Ever

Tonight we enjoyed a fully logical conversation with our four year old about which college she should attend---

Me: Well... it depends on what you want to do when you grow up, really.
E: I want to be a Mommy.
Dan: Then go to Carolina.  They make the best Mommies there.

a stream of thankfulness

(stolen from my friend over at leclaw.blogspot.com)

Elizabeth's Thankfulness
T- tree
H- hug
A- Alphie
N- (k)nufflebunny
K- Kate
S- snake (because that's what God made, so we're thankful for it.)
G- God
I- ice cream
V- veterinarian
I- ice
N- nose
G- Grover

Becky's Thankfulness
T- time with family
H- happy hour
A- apple cider
N- new pens
K- Kindermusik
S- students
G- gift closet
I- iTunes
V- vino
I- invitations
N- new puppies
G- "good girl" (what E keeps saying to Alphie)

** Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.**

Modern Family

December 8, 1990- My Daddy and Mary got married.  Mary became my Non-Evil Step Mother... and brought with her to my life two "Step Sisters": Leslie and Leigh.

One of the things that always cracked me up about Mary was that she always referred to her girls by full name- in the beginning she always said "Leslie Piercy" and "Leigh Piercy", and then later referred to them by their married names.  Really, Mary?  Because I thought you were talking about other Leslies and Leighs?  It was almost as if she assumed I didn't know them.

Oh, wait... I didn't.

Well, that's not totally true.  We'd all grown up at the same church, but since we had an (at that time) age difference, they were out of the youth group before I ever got in it.  And while their names were well known at my high school, we never were there at the same time.  When Daddy and Mary got married, I was the baby in the family.  Both Leslie and Leigh were already out of high school and not living at home.  Chris (my brother) was still there, but it wasn't long before he left for NC State.  So I was the only one around 28715 to be part of their marriage from the perspective of a kid with newly remarried parents.  I would see Leigh and Leslie occasionally when I was at Daddy and Mary's house, but not much.

When I got to college, Leslie married Bob, and I came home for that wedding.  When Leigh married Mike, I'm guessing I was too busy living my very important life to be there, but I remember hearing all about it.

Then, when my trips home became less regular (remember: very important life going on), the girls were always so gracious to give me "alone" time with Daddy and Mary when we were there.  By this point they were both living near them, so they had more regular "access" to them, and allowed me to have more un-interrupted time while I was around.  Over the years we only overlapped occasionally... I can only remember one "family" dinner in all the 20 years they were married.

I knew them by word only, yet I still feel like I knew them.  Mary (and Daddy, for that matter) never stopped talking about what was going on in their lives, and then later when you threw children in the mix, I grew to "know" them even more.

I remember sometime over the last 2 years being at Daddy and Mary's house and Leslie dropped by to show them something Maddy (her daughter) had written for school.  We hung out briefly, and in that moment I remember thinking "it's a shame we don't know each other... I think we would really get along."

You know what?  I was right.

I had the extreme honor of spending the last week of Mary's life not only with her, but with her beautiful daughters... my Step Sisters... too.  We "holed up" (how's that for a good mountain term?) in Mary's room at The Solace Center and, well, got to become family.  After all these years.  We told stories, we laughed, we cried, we prayed, we shared scripture, and we loved.  We learned, together, how each of us benefited from the marriage of our parents.  We talked about our current lives as well as our past.  We told funny stories about our children.  We told funnier stories about our parents.  We celebrated successes (Bob became an Iron Man last weekend!  All hail King Bob!)  We celebrated birthdays.  We talked about people we shared in common.  And we talked about the days to come... and what our worlds would look like... without the physical presence of Mary in our daily lives.

I cannot begin to imagine what that world will be like.  Even now as I write this, it's hard to see the screen for the flood of tears that emerges when I try.  My heart continues to ache for my Daddy, for the girls, for our children... but it does rejoice for Mary.  I know that now as she is healthy in heaven (and can hear clearly!) she will be laughing and loving at the feet of Jesus.  If she was cognizant at all in her last days, I know she left this earth with a full heart hearing all her girls laughing and telling stories.  And while I don't know what the next few days, months, years will hold... I know that as we figure out this new life, I won't be alone.

I will have the love and support of my Step Sisters.

While I don't have a pic of the girls to share with you, 

I can't help but show off this lovely picture of Daddy and Mary on my wedding day.

Mary Waldrup

March 29, 1945- November 10, 2010

http://andersrice.com/memorial.mgi?id=2455512.39873843

Broken hearts and lost babies.

We said we were going to start "trying" to have a baby in October of 2001.  In our grand scheme of life, that would mean we would arrive to Dan's residency program with me pregnant.  Perfect.  I could enter the world of Stay-At-Home Moms in a new city.

Then... nothing.

May of 2002, my OBGYN in Chapel Hill decided to give me a prescription for Clomid.  It came with the warning that it might make me a little crazy, so maybe I should wait to start it once we got settled in Winston-Salem.

So, we got settled in Winston ("A great place to raise a family!" everyone said when we told them we were moving here.)  Months passed.  Each month, the painful reminder of no baby.

It appeared my body wasn't able to ovulate on it's own... but we, at that point, only figured that out thanks to the help of Clomid.  No true "testing" was done... just some trial and error with medication.

December 2003, Dan went to Wilmington... on my birthday... and I was on the first day of my painful reminder that this wasn't the month we would be pregnant.  (Needless to say, I wasn't in the best of moods.  The one shining point of that birthday?  The super sweet college students surprised me with Barenaked Ladies tickets that night at our Christmas party.  Super cool.)  Two days later at Bunko, I sat in my friends' home and proceeded to bleed everywhere.  Horrible pain.  I remember saying to my friend Holly "I don't want to sound like a wuss, but this is the worst period I've ever had.  Something's not right."

The next day I drove myself to my doctor's office and was told that indeed something wasn't right: I was in the throws of a miscarriage.  That same friend, Holly, showed up later at the RMH with lilies and a heating pad.  I wept with tears so intense I didn't know how to function.  And thanks to several friends who helped Dan get across the state, he was soon home and we could mourn together.

I remember vividly Dr. Martin saying "The good news about this is we now know you *can* get pregnant.  The bad news is that you lost your first baby."  Dr. Martin was a God-send for our family.  He was an amazing man who took care of my physical self, as well as my emotional one.  He was coming with his family to volunteer at the RMH later that evening and told me that if it would be too hard to see him there, he would stay home.  Simply amazing.  And, no, it was just the opposite... it was comforting to see him outside of the office, with his kids, and with his amazing caring spirit.

2004 rolled around, more "missed" months.

Then came Labor Day weekend... with the help of some Clomid (and the sad timing of Dr. Martin leaving to go to seminary!  I've still never forgiven God for that one... seriously... called to ministry?  What the what?  *I* needed him as my OB!) I finally was able to get pregnant again.  We started telling our friends.  We celebrated.  We planned.

In the mean time I finally graduated, all the while more reason to celebrate. When I was in Chapel Hill to take my last final, I promptly went to Johnny T-Shirt and bought 2 t-shirts: one that said UNC Alumni (finally!) and one that was a baby UNC shirt (finally!) I remember my graduation party with such happy memories... a great night.  We told everyone who came that we were pregnant.  I came home from the party exhausted.  Andrea and Mom told me to rest.  And I did.  The whole next day, I rested.  And then I started bleeding.

I went to the doctor's office and my worst nightmare was confirmed.  I was in my second miscarriage.  This time, though, I was so far along I would require a D&C.  The D&C also required that I was intubated, which (at the time) was my greatest fear.

I survived both, and vaguely remember Dan getting me a Cookout Milkshake on the way home to "celebrate" that I'd made it.

January that year we decided we were done with our regular OB office and it was time to be a little more aggressive at the Fertility Clinic.  Dr. Deaton and his nurse Paula were just what we needed: up until then we felt like we weren't totally being taken seriously.  It was their job to be serious, and they were good at it.

Months went by with various trials of various procedures.  More Clomid (it made me crazy), Metformin (it made me poopy), combinations of both (crazy and poopy), progesterone, IUI, shots... it's all a blur.  January of 2006 we told Dr. Deaton we couldn't do much more: both financially and emotionally we were getting to the end of our ropes.  We were not able to do IVF at that point (financially) and had decided that emotionally we'd rather start the adoption route.  Lots of kids needed homes and our home needed a kid.  Dr. Deaton recommended that we finish out what medicine we had left (we had already paid the $900 for the meds in our fridge at that time) and we'd try an IUI with full-force progesterone.  His point was that we had nothing to lose to use what we'd already paid for... so why not.

February 16 after what looked like a "good" month, we went to the clinic for my IUI.  Just a few short weeks later, a positive pregnancy test confirmed that it was, indeed, a good month.

I remained on progesterone until my 35th week.  I had been told that I could stop taking it by week 10.  Dan, my ever-cautious husband, pointed out that progesterone was given to women to stop pre-term labor, so why not stay on it a bit longer.  At 36 weeks and 1 day, Elizabeth Jane Johnston entered the world.  I began pushing at 8:25pm, and by 8:32pm (three pushes!) she was here.  (Her Daddy actually delivered her: Dr. Jacobs hadn't made it into the room yet!)

We rejoice constantly for the miracle of Elizabeth, and for all that were part of our road to get her.

But I will say this: in the waiting, it was hell.  From the end of 2001 to 2006, it seemed that everyone and their sister had babies:

*Lots of them had babies and didn't even want children.  Really?  I'd gladly have taken them.
*Some of them made comments like "I can bump into a girl in a bar and get her pregnant!" which had nothing to do with me, but I sure internalized it.  Oh... that's what we were doing wrong.  All that money to our doctors and we could have been bumping into each other at bars.
*Some of them said "you are the last person I'm telling that I'm pregnant, because I wasn't sure you could handle it."  So, not only was I the last to get pregnant, but now I'm left out of your life.
*Some of them said "I guess your miscarriage was just 'God's will' because maybe something might have been wrong with your baby." Right.  Because that matters.  Something *wrong*.  Jerkface.
*Some of them refused to talk about babies around me, while others talked about nothing else.
*Some of them called coming to my child-free house a "playdate"... which it wasn't.
*Lots of them didn't know what to say... so I'm about to tell you:

Say "I'm sorry."  Say "I don't get it."  Say "I hurt for you."  Say prayers for that woman... she easily could be you, your sister, or your wife.  She didn't ask for fertility problems, she didn't ask for miscarriages.  She wants  nothing more than to be a mother... she would take any baby she could get.

God gave us the desire of our heart with Elizabeth.  We know that for lots of women, it's not that easy.  God knows that at the time, 5 years and 2 miscarriages that didn't seem too easy.  We don't know why our road looked the way that it did, or why someone else's ends without their own Elizabeth.  But we do know that it sucks, it hurts, it's painful, and some of "them" don't make it easier.  Don't walk on eggshells around those women who hurt... just walk beside them.

Some of you may be wondering what you did during our years to help or to hurt.  Don't worry, I'm not saying all of this to keep score.  In that moment you may have broken my heart or have been part of it healing.  You may have been the worst of the "them"s or the one that made the "them"s look normal.  Whatever your role, I'm thankful that it's changed now that I'm a Mommy.  Be aware of the hurting women around you, and ask them what they need from you.  Their road will likely be different from mine... and hopefully they will tell you what they need.  The asking alone will mean a lot.  

As I write this, my precious Elizabeth is sitting on our back porch reading her "calendar" (she's put several scribbled-on pages together to be her very own Daytimer.  Tell me that genetics don't exist...)  I look at her and my heart bursts.  I prayed for this type of joy, and I'm thankful I received it. Earlier this week when I told someone that it was the 6th anniversary of my last miscarriage, they were shocked would want to remember it.  But I think I'll want to remember it forever.  It's part of my story, it's part of my family, and it's part of me.

Broken heart, lost babies, and all.