First World Problems

About a 3 weeks ago, we noticed a "bubble" in our kitchen linoleum.  I *hate* our linoleum.  Despise it.  But we don't take baths in dollar bills, so we've chosen for the last 4 years to live with the kitchen as it was when we moved in.  Well, that's not totally true... we got rid of the wallpaper and slapped on some cheery yellow paint.  Beyond that, we've lived with the cabinets that won't stay closed, the countertops that make me tired, and the linoleum that says nothing good about our "style".

Then along came this "bubble".

The linoleum is so high quality and high "klass" (as my friend Debbie would say) that it had a split in between it and the next sheet of it.  Right.  A lovely little division just wide enough to get crumbs stuck in and nothing- including my persistent dogs- could get them out.  Our first assumption was that maybe something had spilled right at the split and caused the linoleum to bubble up.  That was not only an assumption, it was just plain naive.  We put our best efforts into getting the linoleum to go "back down" by putting weight on it- thank you, Primo, and the heavy water jugs you provide.  Nothing worked.

At coffee with my smarter-than-me friend Kam, she asked what was immediately under the spot on the floor.  "Ummm... the garage."  Have you gone down there to look to see if there is a leak?  "Ummm... no."  Then that afternoon I did.  And saw this.

Yep.  We had a leak.

I called our favorite plumber (whose number I will gladly hand out to anyone and everyone- he's wonderful) and our insurance company and both Mike The Plumber (not to be confused with James Denton) and a team from After Disaster arrived around 5:00pm.  Nothing like multiple vehicles with the words "AFTER DISASTER" emblazoned on them to get your neighbors worried about your family's safety.

Mike found the leak after lots of searching- it seems the connection from our pipes to our fridge had gotten worn down from nearly 20 years of chlorine in the water system and had just deteriorated.  It was emitting a super-fine mist, which eventually led to the sub floor becoming saturated.  Hence the linoleum bubbling up.  Ugh.

The team from After Disaster came every day after that for nearly two weeks to check to see how the drying process was going.  They sealed up our kitchen, put dehumidifiers and fans in there, and cranked up the heat to 96 degrees.  It made our downstairs area stink, it made it loud, and it made it unbearable.  We haven't had access to our kitchen sink in 2 weeks, we have a layer of grime everywhere, and our beautiful new dining room table is now the landing for everything that had to be quickly taken out of the kitchen- as well as where we put the non-kitchen-y things that we pack in E's lunch.  I am so beyond sick of restaurant food, I just want my house clean, and I'd like things to be "normal" again in my kitchen NOW.

Yep.  I have first world problems.

The first week that all of this was going down, I wasn't really phased.  I had beautiful, God-given perspective that in light of our 2012, this was nothing.  It was so not a big deal, it was just a thing, and it would be fixed soon.

The second week, my perspective changed as we had some big things happen in our family and I needed our kitchen again.  That beautiful, God-given perspective was still there, I just was able to filter my own selfishness and need through it and make it more about me.

Now, heading into week three, I'm just inconvenienced.  And defeated.  And frustrated with myself.  It is still "just" a floor.  It is still "just" a thing.  It is not permanent, and while it is a hassle, it's not going to destroy us.

I am such a brat.

The beauty in this whole ordeal is the "crack" in the linoleum.  That was probably my biggest headache in our kitchen.  Well, it's a toss up between that and where you could see the exposed staples the last homeowners had used to reattach the lovely linoleum in the corner.  But the crack- that was what saved us.  There was no visible water, no puddle in the floor, nothing to cause us great alarm.  Without that God-forsaken crack, we never would have noticed the leak... and our floor could have collapsed.  Now that.. that would have been a much bigger First World Problem.  I feel like I need to go back in time and apologize to that crack that I hated so much.  I feel like I need to tell it that, while it wasn't aesthetically pleasing, it served a purpose to save my house... and that I am sorry I hated it so much.  And I feel like there is a lovely sermon illustration in all this...

...But for now I've been sitting downstairs too long and the mess is starting to get to me, so I'mma gonna go back upstairs where it's safe.  Y'all enjoy your home-cooked meals today.  And enjoy doing your dishes.

my favorite pic of this debacle.

Thursday

Yesterday was one of those days packed to the brim with things... and unlike a lot of my packed days, I knew I was right where I was supposed to be.

It began just after E hopped on the bus with a trip to Home Depot.  We have had a leak in our kitchen this week (blog post still in "edit" mode) and Dan and I went to check out our new flooring options.  Home Depot Employees Everywhere, here is your warning:  I am a blubbering mess when I step through your automatic doors into your Orange Goodness.  The smell, the people, the memories of my Daddy overwhelm me in that big box store.  And they likely forever will.  So when the kind lady gave me a square of tile for free, she had no idea I would cry.  She was just doing her job- and getting the "customer service part" right.  But every time people there treat me like Daddy treated his customers, I feel like he's giving me a little kiss on the head.

Dan and I went from there for a breakfast date only to get the call from our contractors that we needed to rearrange our day and head home to deal with the insurance estimator.  Let me say that in the last 5 days I have grown more and more thankful for our insurance company.  They are good, y'all.

For about a 30-minute-window, I popped in at MOMS.  I got to briefly hug on some ladies... and lead a silly ice breaker.  I know I joked about it on Facebook this week, but I am thankful that my church allows me to use all those Student Council ice-breaking skills on a regular basis.  I love learning new things about the people with whom I am in community.  And here's my plug to group leaders everywhere: even if you "know" your group, there's always goodness that can come from a quick ice breaker.  Just ask my small group... our most memorable one to date was "What is one thing you never want your parents to find out?"  I cringe and giggle remembering that night...

I scooted out of MOMS (sadly right before one of my besties was teaching!) to go deal with more kitchen stuff- then headed east for the best lunch I've had in forever.  January 1, our world got rocked again when we learned of my friend Lee's flu-nomia (trademark pending).  Now that we are on the "other side", I can be honest and say that I wasn't sure he was going to make it.  In all honesty, I screamed out to God many times those first few weeks "WE CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN.  WE CANNOT LOSE ANOTHER ONE.  THIS FAMILY NEEDS THEIR DADDY."  And, to be completely honest, I prayed big prayers, but didn't truly trust for big answers.  I am still in the "wounded prayer" mode from 2012... and while I knew God could heal Lee, I wasn't totally sure He would.  I am more than thrilled to report that we book-ended January with emotion for Lee.  While on the 1st, we were frozen in fear... on the 31st we shared a meal and celebrated his healing.  He still has a long way to go to be 100% again, but he is making huge strides.  I am in awe of God's goodness.  I feel like we got the front row seat to a miracle.

We rushed back from lunch with Lee and Emily in time to get E off of the bus, then I shot over to spend time with Mom.  She'd asked earlier in the week if I could take her shopping, but given our kitchen/leak drama, our schedules didn't line up until last night.  We spent 3 hours shopping, and while moments of it were maddening, I benefited from some God-ordained patience.  Earlier this week I read this article by Amy Grant.  While I agree with her comments whole-heartedly, I kept thinking this week of the "last great gifts" I can give my Mom.  I can give her dignity.  I can give her patience.  I can give her kindness.  We shopped for new black shoes nearly identical to the ones she has in her closet... which she doesn't remember that she owns.  We bought a pair of "bedroom slippers" because she said she desperately needed some... only to place them right beside her other- already owned- pair.  She told me the last thing on her list she needed was a hat.  Moments later, I said, "Let's go find a hat!" to which she replied, "A hat?!?  Why would I need a hat?"  My heart constantly breaks when these moments occur.  I think about the mother I grew up with and all of the valuable things she taught me... and now I think about the mother I am getting to know and want to use those valuable lessons to love her well.  It is a process- and while it is so painful for me, I'm certain her pain is great, too.  So I will continue to shop for duplicate shoes and guide her toward hats as long as I'm able.

I went to bed relatively early last night after a packed-to-the-brim kind of day.  Just before bed, E and I FaceTimed with one of my her best friends and as I saw my own face on the screen, I saw just how run-down I looked.  I no longer have skin that doesn't require maintenance.  I no longer have naturally bright eyes that look alert without effort.  I no longer have the benefit of youth on my side.  But my tired eyes were tired from a day well spent with the people and things that I love.  I'm thankful that today is a little more low-key, but I'll take a full day like Thursday from time to time to remind me of God's goodness.  In the mean time, I'll just need a few more naps... and some really good moisturizer.

"I know you'd quit your job if I needed you to..."

Back in 2010- the other dark year of recent days- I was lamenting to a friend on the phone about the absence of another friend's "help".  Before you get all "Wow, Becky... that's very 12-year-old-girl of you,"... I KNOW.  I even blogged about my neediness- twice- in 2010.  I won't link them for you because there is no sense in us all going "back there", but I promise, they exist.  I've come to terms with my neediness and gotten over a lot of it.

Anyway, while on the phone with Friend J, I was crying about another friend not "stepping up" to help when I needed her to.  (Let it go, we've moved on.)  I told her- in my very mature way- that I know if I needed her, she was there for me.  And then I said words that she's quoted back to me time and time again... "I mean, I know you'd even quit your job if I needed you to..."

(awkward silence.)

"Um, Becky?  I'm not going to quit my job."

(more awkward silence.)

"Riiight, but you know what I mean, right?  You'd do something drastic if I needed you to."

"Possibly, but I'm not quitting my job."

Well then.  Whoops.  Hey, Needy-2010-Becky... do you hear how this sounds now?  In the moment, I know I meant well.  But reading it now (and reliving it a little) makes me realize just how crazy it sounded.

I figured out this week why that was an example my jacked-up-brain was ready to make.

Not only did my Daddy teach me to live like that (he made lots of self-less decisions for friends... some of them stupid, too)... but I've seen it modeled among my friends.  Specifically, my guy friends.

When I was in high school, I was in State Student Council.  I was fortunate enough to meet people from all over our fine state... we traveled together, laughed together, and became life-long friends in the truest sense.  There are a couple of these friends I talk to on a monthly basis... and you'd have no idea we formed a friendship from only seeing each other three or four times a year.

Mars Hill 50th Anniversary

When I got to Carolina, I had several "ready made" friends.  We all were excited to see each other on a more regular basis than our previous geographically challenged lives made possible.

1992, our schools being inducted as officers

We met each other's friends.  Our worlds blended together quickly.  Two friends in particular- Lee and George- sucked us in to their friend world almost immediately.  I spent more time with this crowd of guys than I should have... and beautifully never crossed over the awkward male/female friend line with any of them.  I may or may not have made an idiot out of myself several times in front of many of them... but in that beautiful way that allows you to stay close to guys later in life... "back in the day" lines were never crossed.

I had met lots of Lee and George's friends in high school.  Those I hadn't met yet quickly became friends at UNC.  In fact, there were only 2 from their high school crowd I didn't know.  Dan Johnston... and a guy named Ben who ended up in our wedding.  Well, and there was Spirko who I kind of assumed was a figment of their imagination, but that's a story for another day.  This group of guys was "special"... they spent a lot of time together, did anything for each other, and put each other's needs ahead of their own.

One of our many trips to Bubs... Dan's glasses are awesome.

After graduation, these guys continued to stay connected... and continued to get together way more than any other guys I know.  And they continued to love big.  Lee and Erik drove to Mars Hill to attend my Grandmother's funeral.  I'm not sure I even knew they were coming... I just looked up in the receiving line and saw faces from "home".  (I do remember trying to explain to my Uncle Bud that I wasn't dating either one of them, but that, yes, they should stay to join us for the Family Luncheon.)  Erik donned a camp and gown and walked with me at my belated graduation.  And that graduation wouldn't have happened if George hadn't gone out of his way to help me stand up for my asthmatic-rights over the years.  All of those guys came to visit me time after time in the hospital- we way extending visiting hours and numbers of people allowed in a hospital room.  I so benefited being part of this larger "family" community- at Carolina and beyond.*

13 days ago, I woke up to frantic texts, missed phone calls, and Facebook messages of these guys trying to get in touch with me.  Two of them left voicemails I won't likely forget that said almost word for word the same thing: "Becky, Lee is very sick.  Very sick.  I need you to call me."  Lee, the Great Connector of this motley crew of boys, had developed the flu and pneumonia and had been Life Flighted to UNC Hospital during the late night hours of New Years Eve.  I'll let you catch up on the details on his CaringBridge site rather than retelling them here, but I'll sum it up like this-  Lee is still very sick.  He is doing incredibly well given what the doctors saw 2 weeks ago.  His wife, Emily,is truly one of the strongest women I've ever known.  And please keep her in your prayers- she is seven months pregnant (and has two little kids at home.)

And here's why I have such high expectations of friendship-- those guys have loved Lee and his family well.  They have surrounded them both physically and emotionally in these long, scary days.  They have rearranged work schedules (none have outright quit that I know about... yet...) and obligations to make sure that Lee's family knows they are there to help.  They are being the boys they have always been and loving each other well.  The same guys who drank a lot of beer together in college are making sure the ICU waiting room is well stocked in food and drink (Diet Sundrop, to be exact.)  The same ones who camped out for basketball tickets together are standing in the room with one of their dearest friends and... you guessed it... watching ESPN with him now.  And because they love a good party, they are dreaming up a bash to celebrate Lee pulling through this.

the first picture I have of Lee... JTHHS, May 1991

Being fully immersed in this kind of love has given me lots of clarity recently.  It makes me grateful I've lived in this community of friends for over 21 years now.  (Lee and I are just months short of knowing each other 22 years!)  It's made me realize that my expectations of friendship have been made from seeing friendships lived out among Lee and "his guys".  I'm fortunate that I continue to get to be a part of that world... and I'm hoping all of you know that kind of self-sacrificing friendship, too.  It'll change your life.

Daddy's Celebration of Life, Summer 2012

*I would be remiss to not include the girls that were part of this group of guys.  Several became part of "the guys" after marriage, but one in particular- Mary- has been there from the get-go.  She spent her fair share of time with me in my hospital days, too... and I seem to remember she and I had the lovely duty of helping these boys clean out their refrigerators a time or two.  She has carried a heavy load of coordinating care for the Conners... and for that, we are grateful.

Being a Duck

Grandmother and Granddaddy Duck

I am a Duck.  I come from a long line of Ducks- my Grandmother was a Duck (her maiden name).  I have heard all of the good Duck jokes, and even told many of them myself.  We all collected Duck treasures.  And we all spent time learning what it meant to be a Duck.  I spent many Sundays at the homes of other Duck relatives growing up... there were lots of Duck cousins, although not many my age.  Apparently, this wasn't just a tradition for my generation.  My Mom spent every Sunday going to her grandparents house for a meal.  Everyone's presence was "expected".  How I love that tradition now... but at the time I remember wishing I had more kids to play with.

Mostly, I remember being at the home of my Uncle Otis and Aunt Betty.  They hosted family reunions and many big luncheons at their home on Duck Drive.  I remember playing with their Corgi, Ichabod, and laughing with Uncle Otis as he smothered me with kisses.  Aunt Thelma pinched our cheeks in the stereotypical way.  Uncle Bobby and Uncle Bud made me giggle at their silly jokes.  I remember playing with their pool table... I loved it all.  I loved being part of a "bigger" family.  I loved being a Duck. 

Aunt Betty and Uncle Otis

As we grew up, those "bigger" family events dwindled.  Part of it was the nature of life- the cousins had babies and families of their own... and each individual Duck child hosted their own immediate families for holidays.  I saw the (great)aunts and(great) uncles as I was able to... and of course saw them all again at my Grandparent's funerals. 

Sadly, I missed Uncle Otis's funeral.  I remember Mom calling me to let me know he'd died- I was a freshman at UNC.  It was right as exams were starting- Mom told me to stay there and take my exams.  She insisted that Uncle Otis would want me to do well on my exams rather than drive home.  So I stayed... and I went to Linda's on Franklin Street to toast Uncle Otis with some friends (on my way to the library, I'm sure.)

When Dan and I moved to Winston in 2002, we knew 4 people.  Our friend Chris Lieu who was here in Med School, a friend-of-a-friend Joy (who became my contact to the world here!), Aunt Betty and her daughter Roz.  I vaguely knew Roz, but I was looking forward to reconnecting with Aunt Betty while being here... and knew I would like Roz, too.

Keith finally talks to me now.

Our first Thanksgiving, Dan was on-call at the hospital and we couldn't go home.  Roz insisted we join her family at her home for Thanksgiving Dinner as Dan was able to sneak away for a meal.  Roz had 2 teenage children- Keith, a high school freshman who had no time for his "old lady" cousin; and Courtney, a college freshman.  I tried to charm Keith into being my friend, but it took about 3 years until he actually would say more than "hey" to me.  That Thanksgiving meal was the beginning of a beautiful tradition.  Our families have spent many Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters, and beyond together since 2002.  I so envied people with "big" families growing up... and loved that Match Day gave us a bigger one here in Winston.

Aunt Betty showered both Dan and me with her love.  She was our "grandmother" here in town... and both of us were thankful to have her as we both had lost our own grandmothers.  We picked her up for meals, errands, appointments... or sometimes we'd join her at Brookridge for a meal and get to meet all of her friends.  We loved that she "showed us off"... and she did proudly... until the birth of Elizabeth Jane when we became known only as "Elizabeth Jane's parents."  Her son told me the other night "You know Mom adored you, right?  But not nearly as much as she adored your daughter."

As I said my goodbyes to Aunt Betty last week in ICU after a horrible, freak hospital stay that turned fatal-- I told her thank you for making my family bigger, and for adoring my daughter so.  I drove back home from the hospital on Christmas and allowed myself to think back on our ten years here... more sure than ever that Match Day brought us here for more than just residency.

Elizabeth with Courtney

The day after Aunt Betty died, we began rallying to celebrate.  We were not only celebrating her life, but we were celebrating the life and love of her Granddaughter, Courtney.  Courtney had the most lovely wedding yesterday.  It was perfect.  Just perfect.  Probably due to the fact that, as a friend so sweetly put it, the wedding had a "heavenly coordinator."  The rain held off, there were no glitches, and I've never seen a more smiley bride.  The only thing missing, obviously, was Aunt Betty who had wanted so desperately to be there.  At dinner, our table drank a toast to Aunt Betty and my Daddy.  I feel certain they were toasting us, too.

Ten years ago, I had cousins and aunts I knew only in the "formal" sense.  But yesterday at the wedding... and tomorrow at the funeral... they are so much more than that.  They are ones with whom I share inside jokes... they are ones with whom the "I love you"s mean so much more.  We are Ducks.  And I am so thankful for being one.

The sweetest bite. E's first birthday.

**for a link to Aunt Betty's obituary, click here.**

Mom

I live life out loud.  I share my story- the good and the bad- with the world.  I tend to be an "open book."

And all of those things make my mother cringe.

My mother, for those of you who don't know her, is a very private person.  She keeps details of her life to herself- always has.  She would cringe- often publicly- when my Dad or I would say things that she wasn't comfortable hearing publicly.  I think we were put in her life to push her buttons... and she was put in our lives to give us filters.

Which is why these last few years I've lived in a tenuous spot.

My mother has been diagnosed with dementia.  And she is horrified of people knowing.  And I am weary from living with it a "secret".

Everyone who has been around my Mom knows.  It is past the point of hiding.  Without sharing cringe-worthy stories, I'll just share that the diagnosis is official and non-arguable.  It has been painful, hurtful, heartbreaking, and has left us completely worn-down.  We ache for her loss, and we ache for ourselves.

I have tip-toed on Facebook and my blog for months upon months to make sure that I don't "over share."  The last thing I want to do is embarrass my Mom.  In light of recent events, it's hit me more than ever that we should not steer clear from talking about mental health issues.  At the same time, mental health or physical health... my Mom would not want her private life to be posted anywhere.

So therein lies the struggle.  Mom- totally private.  Me- public, and aching from living in this world of uncharted emotions and experiences.  My days are long... and often rather empty... as I sort through not having my Grown Ups to turn to anymore.  My birthday came and went with no parent to call to celebrate that date.  Traditions and expectations on holidays are all a moot point this year.  My guard goes up with each phone call regarding our "new" situation... and my shoulders stay tense.

And this is why I finally decided to post about it.  With the exception of a few friends who are also on this path, it can by a very lonely place trying to navigate this season of life alone.  Kelly Corrigan talks about this "season" in her book The Middle Place... and when I read the book years ago, I had no idea how quickly I would get to this space.  When I read it, Mary and Daddy were both living and Mom wasn't quite as sick.  I wasn't yet adding words to my responsibility list like "executor" or "power of attorney".  I liked that space much better.  But we can't go back... which is why I tread lightly to share with you some of the details of my story... not just my Mom's.

I ask for your prayers for the days ahead in our journey... and I ask that those of you who have "been there" not bombard me with information, but offer your guidance in a way that would have been helpful to you.  I also ask that you help me in keeping my Mom's desire for a private-lived life just that... while dementia is nothing to be ashamed of, it's hard to not be where you thought you'd be.  And it's hard to have a daughter who tells the world your information without your blessing.  I feel sure Elizabeth (and karma) will repay this gesture in the days to come.

it's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday...

This morning, I was on the folding-end of a laundry blessing.

My heart-sister, Laurie, called early on and said she needed help at the laundromat.  She was getting the last of her laundry done before leaving town.  Her day was scheduled to the minute, and she needed someone to take over so she could get back on task.  As soon as E's bus left, I headed over to feed quarters and match socks.  Mind you, she's not "leaving town" like, I dunno, going on vacation.  She's "leaving town", like, moving to Arizona.  To plant a church.  Which is awesome... and yet still, my heart hurts.

While I was folding the cutest little Lego underwear, my heart jumped when I realized that I was, indeed, on the giving end of this blessing...

And just a few short weeks ago, I was on the receiving end... our friends had before rushed to our door to take away our dirty laundry and returned it clean and folded.  Blessings.

⁴² They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. ⁴³ Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles.⁴⁴ All the believers were together and had everything in common. ⁴⁵ They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. ⁴⁶ Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts,⁴⁷ praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.  Acts 2:42-47

This is just how my 10-year friendship with Laurie and her family has been.  We have given- and received- together when there was a need.  We have seen signs and wonders.  We have broken bread and prayed.  And we have had everything in common... sometimes, a wee bit too much.  (There aren't many people who would loan you ALL of their clothes when your luggage gets lost in Rwanda... just sayin'.)

Which is part of what makes this transition so hard.  Never have I felt so instantly connected to a friend in both life and Spirit.  Never have I had someone who would drop everything to run to Wal-mart at a moment's notice.  Never have I been rebuked in love and encouraged in truth and ridiculed by the same person.  We have woven together a tapestry of pain and suffering... joy and celebration.  We have witnessed the birth, rebirth, and homecoming of our children together... we have taken pregnancy tests and watched fertility ultrasounds together... we have watched great men be inaugurated and sung on the stage with other men at that same moment in time.  We have walked together in search of a nude beach... we have wept openly about our pasts... we have bought each other Starbucks when the other one of us just couldn't afford it.  We have lived through parents with cancer and dementia... we have sung RENT! at the top of our lungs (even when we have the words wrong.)  We have walked on dark streets in a foreign land against our better judgement... and been blown away at God's individual love over a gallon of wine.  We have been sure our husbands have lost their minds and needed us to tell them... and praised those same men at their amazing growth and Godly decisions.  We have watched college students grow... and watched our hearts grow to love students more every day.  We have run together at Rope Drop and run together at the Y in the dark.  We have eaten at Long John Silvers and Boca de Bobbidi Boo.  And never have I been more grateful for every step of the journey.

THIS is the body of Christ.  This is the fellowship of believers.  This is the good life. This is the real life- folding laundry and all.  And this is truth... friends really are friends forever.  God speed, my Kindred Spirit.  I can't wait to see where He leads us next.

 (she is a Brickhouse, you know...)

my kitchen is clean.

My kitchen is clean.

It looks beautiful.

The countertops are free of sippy cups and plastic plates. 

I didn't get out of bed until 7:30 this morning. I woke up at 6, but I laid in bed- cuddled next to my sick child who had invited herself in sometime during the night- and read until 7:30.

No one has cried this morning.

No one has yelled.

No one has been put in Time Out.

There is coffee that's been brewed and Dan is making us waffles as I type these words.

There is nothing on my agenda today except to decorate for Christmas and have lunch and ashopping date with a friend.

Holy crap, y'all... this feels GOOD.

Yesterday, it didn't feel so good.  Yesterday, I had two little boys in my living room watching PBS Kids and waiting for the Social Worker to arrive to take them to their next home.  Two little boys who had pushed every button I had by sunrise.  Two boys who had wrecked my "normal" during the last 6 and a half weeks.  Two boys who made me angry... made me yell... showed me sides of my own heart that were nasty.  Two boys who wanted nothing more than to be loved and be shown that we would be the same today that we were yesterday.  Two boys who exasperated my daughter and my dogs.  Two boys who made me weep when I heard one say "I love Dan soooo much.  I just love him so, so much."  Two little boys who I had grown to love.

This foster care business?  It ain't for the faint at heart.

And that's just what I am- faint at heart.  Our six and a half weeks with the boys showed me humanity in a way I've never seen.  It humbled me when I saw what a "bad" person I am at my core.  It showed me how prideful and selfish and weak I am.  And, not to sound uber-holy, but it showed me that I CANNOT DO THIS without total dependence on God.

While the timing could not have been worse, it also could not have been better.  We began their stay here with E's birthday- and while the spotlight was taken off of her, it also was rightfully given to her as all the little people in our home got showered with gifts.  During their stay, I was also occupied with my responsibilities as a daughter- taking care of things for my Daddy's estate as well as finding a new role in loving my Mom.  My to-do list has never, never been as full as it has been in the last 6 weeks.  This year alone has been taxing in brand new ways... and these last 6 weeks just fit under the banner of "2012 Crazy".  I even had to upgrade to a larger day-planner to keep all of our appointments and responsibilities straight.  Yet having the boys to distract me from life as I now know it, and having life to balance out the boys?  Perfect timing.

Here is the kicker, though, of our quick stint in Foster Care... it's not about us.  Yes, my family changed.  Yes, my responsibilities changed.  Yes, we had to adapt.  Yes, we sacrificed.  Yes, we grieved.  But ultimately- and I'm not looking to be a martyr- it's about the kids.  Those two little boys who got in our van on a Tuesday night- shaking and sobbing.  Those little boys who were forced to learn to trust us... and who just wanted to go home. 

I posted yesterday on Facebook that I was thankful for our role in Foster Care... and I am.  I got slammed with people saying encouraging things like "we're so proud of you" and "you made a difference"... thank you.  While my post was not intended to seek encouragement- we appreciate it.  But when it boils down to it- and, again, I'm not trying to go uber-holy- it wasn't us who made the difference.  We are tired, sinful, weary, hurting people... we just provided a safe place for those boys to feel God's love.  There were days we couldn't do it, so we allowed others of you to love on them for us.  The love those boys received from our friends, their daycare/preschool, our church, our families... oh ya'll... they got loved.

And we will do it again.  Not because we "want" to, but because we know we are supposed to.

But it won't be right now.  We're going to take a little time to rest.  And heal.  And go see The Mouse.  And love each other big and un-interrupted.  And rest.  (Did I say that already?)  And breathe.

So for now, I'll look at my clean kitchen and enjoy it... because I know sometime soon the sippy cups will be back.  And I'll hug E extra tightly... because I know sometime soon my lap will have another little one in it.  And I'll not feel guilty about enjoying this moment... because I know it's a gift from the Lord.