A Strange Day

Today our foster children went with their mom... for good. Well, almost for good. They'll be back for one night because of the policies regarding overnight visits and some mis-placed paperwork. However, they're with their mom for the next week, and I'm here, suddenly without the kiddos that I have gotten incredibly used to thinking about constantly. It's an odd feeling.

Although I'm having an interesting time trying to adjust, I came to the sudden realization that five kids is a few more than I can handle without aging at break-neck speeds. I mean, look at this:

The picture on the left was taken in June when DeLaynie graduated from Pre-K. The picture on the right was taken a couple of weeks ago. I'm not looking for consolation. It is beyond argument that I have aged in the last seven weeks.

My brother and husband assure me that most of those terrible wrinkles are due to the bags under my eyes, and that sleep will cure them very quickly. I remain doubtful.

On the other hand, Edwin had a habit of referring to me as a saint during our time as foster parents, so I can assume that wrinkles and sainthood are somehow linked, as evidenced below.

Back to Mimi School

Ella returned to what we have entitled Mimi School. It is really a daycare that she attends two mornings a week in order to learn socialization skills, some pre-reading skills, and let mommy have a break skills. Don't tell her that, though. This morning Ella was absolutely sure that she would get to go to big kid school in two weeks. She was rather disappointed at the notion of two years.

Unfortunately, she's not much for posing. She is fun to capture on film when she has no idea that you're snapping a photo, but once she discovers your intent, she gets silly. Thus, I have only one picture of her alone, and the silliness quotient is still high. 

I have no idea what this expression is all about, but it's entertaining.



Ella saw a school bus and became deeply concerned that DeLaynie  was going to miss her ride. We drive her to school.

And this is the closest thing to a good picture that I could get of the two of them. They really weren't in photo-taking moods today.

You may be wondering how DeLaynie's first day of kindergarten went. The truth is that I really don't know. She seemed pretty frazzled when I picked her up yesterday. I think that transitioning to life without an aide is a little more challenging than DeLaynie and I anticipated. I'm sure that she'll adjust, but it may take her a little longer than we thought.

Our foster daughter also began school today. Right now I'm at home with the two boys. Uncle Micah is taking a time-out. He's already allowed me to go for a walk.

I just realized that I totally forgot to mention the fact that my brother is here to stay with us for a while. He got here on Friday, and he has been extremely helpful so far. He's done dishes and changed diapers and everything! It's pretty awesome having some extended family around. Ella's already bummed that he's only staying until Christmas.

Anyway, there are many things to get done while having the "break" of only having two little ones. (I think that used to seem hard? Weird!) So I will sign off for now.

My Kindergartener!

DeLaynie began kindergarten today. The excitement was somewhat tempered because of her previous school experience. She's been in school for two years, but this will be her first year completely mainstreamed. She won't have an aide to make sure that she interacts. She will be receiving therapy for speech and motor skills, but she is in full-out kindergarten for a vast majority of the day.

For comparing/contrasting purposes, here is a picture from her first day of school last year:

And this is a picture from her first day of school in 2009, when she was just three (that's Ella's age!):

And here are the scarily big girl pics from today:

Asthma's Stupid

Somehow, it was completely lost in the shuffle that our middle foster child has asthma. (There's a reason that God created families, not case files.) It was no one's fault in particular, but the poor kid went over a month without a single breathing treatment. The first clue that we got was a simple cough that quickly turned into a pair of crackly lungs.

I've had absolutely no experience with asthma, and Edwin (my childhood asthmatic husband) was out of town. His birth mom called on Friday to see if he'd received a breathing treatment to help clear his lungs. I was taken aback. He has asthma? Good grief!

Thus we spent last Friday night in an ER so that we could get him on breathing treatments immediately . He went to his regular pediatrician with his mom on Monday, who decided to put him on FIVE breathing treatments a day. I'm sure that such procedure is completely necessary since he hadn't had a single treatment in more than a month, but...

Picture trying to get a 2 1/2 year old boy to breathe in magical, healing steam while the other four kiddos run around frantically. Obviously, he doesn't appreciate my concern one bit. Just as obvious is the opportunism that the other children show during these times of distraction. It never ends with a cleaner house than when it began.

Because things are typically so quiet and easy to manage...

Did you buy that? Yeah, me neither.

These little things are slowly piling up to create a massive mountain (made mostly from laundry) that only faith can move.

Thus I now proclaim:

Asthma is stupid!



Hannah on Football

Not Hannah on a Football, which would look something like this:

(Pardon the cheese-factor. I'm pretty sure that my sanity is questionable at this point.)

I have been asked on a few occasions if my love for football is out of support for my husband, and I feel that it is now time to set the record straight.

When I first met my man, he hadn't seen an Alabama football game in FOUR YEARS! Four years! Not even an Iron Bowl, for goodness' sakes! I'm not totally sure how that's even possible, but he claimed that he was in high school the last time he had seen a game.

I, of course, found this repulsive, and quickly clued him in on the fact that Hannah's Saturdays are permanently booked. I watch Alabama play. Then I watch the rest of the SEC play. Then I watch the big name teams in other conferences. Then I watch whoever is playing in the NFL on Sunday. Then I talk about it all week.

When I think about football season, the song "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" comes to mind, my eyes light up, and I get giddy, which is really saying something for me. (I don't typically do giddy.)

What is it about football? I wish that I could somehow communicate what it is that makes me so happy when it comes to football, but I just can't. I simply love the game. I love that I understand such a large percentage of the rules. I love that I can be an expert on the subject up here at the crossroads of Hockeyville and Socceropolis. I love faked passes that manage to trick the announcers. I love bold statements in the big game. I love playing it smart and conservative just to crush the opposition in the end. I love the nervousness of being down by 6 in the last quarter. And I love the excitement of an amazing comeback. I love inspiring coaches, selfless players, and exuberant fans. I love the feeling I get when I walk into a college stadium. It's been a long time, but I remember it well.

All that being said, it's still just a game. A great game, but a game. It's a fun thing to do with my family on the weekends. It's something that I look forward to, and would certainly miss if it suddenly vanished.

But I don't need it.

I don't have to have it. There's only one part of my life that qualifies for such a level of distinction. I only need my Creator. I only need my God. I enjoy football, but it ain't got nothing on the Lord of lords and the King of kings. Football is a hobby. Jesus is the driving force of my life, choosing how I spend my time, how I love, and how I give.

Only He gets to do that. Only He should do that. Only He is worthy of praise. Only He is good. Only He is precious. Only He is God!

Don't be confused. Football is a game. Jesus is God Himself.

A Geography Lesson

When people hear, "New York," they obviously think of the city, the most populous city in the country. They think of taxis, skyscrapers, and gangsters. They don't think of the state. They never think of the rural area in which we dwell. When something happens in New York City, they assume that we are affected by it. In order to educate the public, I have decided to put on a little geography lesson.

(Oh, I am totally qualified to give such a lesson. I remember getting a 100 in geography in 6th grade, and I have access to the Internet, which is where I found the above map, so I'm pretty much an expert... right? Maybe not...)

Notice that you have to drive the length of three states to get from New York City to our home! As close as we can estimate it, we are 7 hours from the great city, which includes a two hour train ride.

Obviously, it's not insulting to assume that we're closer to NYC than we are. It's not that I dislike being in the same state. I love where we live, but it's completely different from what I expected.

And here's the kicker: people in rural areas are pretty stinkin' similar, whether they're in Alabama, Kentucky, or yes, even New York State.

(Okay, that's more sociology than geography. I'm multi-talented that way.)

The trucks are big, the farmers work hard, and everybody knows everything that happens in town. For the first few months, I had a really hard time remembering how far away we were from our original homes. Then I would pass a sign stating that the Canadian border was one mile away, and I'd have a sudden feeling of desertion, as if I'd just left home.

It's amazing how close a few thousand miles can seem at one moment, and how incredibly far they can seem the next. My mental map had a serious scaling issue. Since then I have developed a better understanding of our location (4 months of snow a year will do that), and a better appreciation for the similarities between yankee country folk and confederates that fall into the same category. We can be distant from where we know while being very close to what we know.

Class dismissed.

Big Girl Hair-dos!

With school about to begin, I decided to get the girls' hair cut. This decision may also have something to do with the fact that I'm tired of the hair brushing battle. I mean, hair? Really, hair? I'm just trying to keep my sanity here.

The girls loved the experience. In fact, DeLaynie had a difficult time keeping still. (Which is weird for her... Okay; not really.)

So, here's what you really want: Pictures!