A Tuesday in My Mind

I took piano lessons when I was a kid. I remember playing at recitals, sitting in my velvet dress and trying not to pee my self as I managed to clang "Good King Winsislas" onto the keys.

I don't know how old I was when my parents let me quit taking lessons, but they did. Recently, I asked my mom why she let me quit. She said she was tired of hearing me complain about practicing.

I kind of got mad at her, it passed quickly. A few months ago I sat down with a talented friend and forced her to teach me chords. Each night Jason and Moose get a recital here at our house. I am teaching myself to play the piano. I love it. I love using my own fingers and hearing something remotely resembling music come from it. I don't play recital music though. I play music that means something to me.

Which leads me to a thought. I am going on my twenty-eighth year in life and just now figured out that I think I would really have liked to be in a blues band.

Although I give them no blame I rather wish that my parents had forced me, complaining or not, to do something with myself. Perhaps they tried, I do not know.
I feel as though I have this tremendous amount of passion and absolutely no outlet for which to release it. I am drive without ability. I am ideas without talent. I am vision without know-how.

Really, truly, I am not particularly good at anything except for pretending that I am good at a lot of things.

Starting up the piano this winter has been good for me. There is this ever growing list of items in my life that I just can not seem to control, to manage, to even remotely figure out how to take steps towards. The piano was a step I could take.
I wished that I could be more musical, thus I am teaching myself how to play.

My tattoo was the same. I have always wanted a tattoo. I figured out something that I would forever want inked into my body. I went to the tattoo parlor one afternoon on my way home from the grocery store and two weeks later I sat in a black chair and got a tattoo from a man named Styx. I have never been more queasy and proud at the same time.

I feel like I am in a state of rebellion now, but not against God. I am finally rebelling against my own self. It is pretty exhausting to be honest, but it is better than boring. I would rather be tired than bored any day.

A year ago I went to a Mom's group in Bloomington looking for some companions, some support. The room was full of good, sweet, loving women. The conversation turned to things we need to teach our sons to help them become gentlemen.

Do you know what was said? We need to teach them to take their hats off at the table.

The group dialogues about this for a long time. How do we teach this? When is it okay for them to keep it on? When should they remove it? What if they are praying, but at a baseball game, should they take it off then?

I did not speak up.
No one wanted to hear that removing your hat is nothing more than a cultural sensitivity, a byproduct of a human being that can read social cues, an act of reverence and respect that is rooted in a much deeper understanding of the history of religion and relationships.

I have no concerns about my son learning when he should remove his hat and when he can just leave it on. He will learn. For now I really do not care if he eats his peas while sporting a cowboy hat, a new RAMS hat from Grandpa, or a pair of my underwear on his head.
I am more concerned about his feet. Will he be able to recognize Holy Ground? Will he be the kind of man that will remove his shoes?
When he is walking the road and passes by a hurt enemy which instinct will he give into? Will he flee for survival or will he muster up compassion?
That is what I want to talk about at Mommy's group, that and sex and how to make a really good batch of cookies.

I love the band U2 mostly because I have no idea what they are talking about and at the same time I know I want to be a part of it. I kind of feel the same way about God. He is a mystery to me, I do not get him most of the time, but I want him. I feel like I need to google God just as much as I am googling the meaning of U2 songs. But, in the end reading about it does not satisfy. I want to rock, with God that is. Although rocking with U2 would probably be pretty darn cool as well.


Sometimes someone will ask me "what do you want to do?".
I respond:

I want to see the penguins coming in off of the coast of Prince Charles Island in Australia and cry because they are so ridiculously fragile and amazing and cute.

I want to be in a refugee camp and meet people who remind me what human dignity is truly all about.

I want to sit down and ask Jesus why he made that fig tree wither.

"Oh,", they say "I meant like did you want to go to Target or the Mall?"


Recently I have been wondering why I have made many of the decisions that I have made throughout my adult life. It is wonder, not regret. There is a big difference.
I don't have an answer yet, but I think it has something to do with trying to find liberation while not letting go of the medication. You know, looking for the sky while hiding in a cave. Praying for God to send someone to help a sick man, while refusing to answer when God says, "Hello? Is someone there?" and I know he is talking to me.

Right now, today, what is it Tuesday..yes...Tuesday...Today this is what I am thinking. In case anybody is wondering, "What does Katie think about on any given Tuesday?"

1. Why is it that Barnes and Noble would have accepted the book I wanted to return without a receipt, but could not accept it when I produced a receipt showing the book was purchased over two weeks ago? It is an invitation for dishonesty, really.
Now, I am just going to go to another Barnes and Noble and return my unread book without the receipt.

2. There are 8 MILLION slaves in the world today. SLAVES.
We just got Mama Mia in the mail today thanks to Netflix. I have been wanting to watch that movie for a long time now. Is it okay for me to crash on my couch tonight, popcorn in hand, hubby close by and watch Pierce Bronson sing while there are 8 MILLION SLAVES in the world today?

3. I got this new shirt at JC Penny because my mother in law told me it would look great on me. I think she is just trying to find ways to cover up my tattoo, but none the less I bought the shirt and I rather like it. When I was in Ethiopia I had two pairs of pants, three shirts, and one pair of shoes. I bought a dress while I was there. My entire wardrobe fit into a back pack. And, I was incredibly happy with me.
Today I am wondering why I can not seem to get back to that place. Why I can't seem to stop wishing that I had better clothes, that I could be a little more fashionable. I am torn between wanting to purge my closet of all but the basics and buying this really great dress I saw at Express.

4. I want to follow my inner Gypsy, but for Christmas my husband bought me this amazing kitchen aid mixer. I do not think Gypsy's have those.


And, that is that. That is a glimpse into my mind on this very dreary cold Tuesday. Moose is sleeping, tired from a wild morning with Mommy. It has been a great day thus far, that child brings me more joy than I can explain.

I am off to do some laundry, to trip over the dogs because they always manage to stand right where I am going, and to consider the possibility of joining a rock band even though I can not sing, can not play, and get really annoyed with music that is too loud.

~


P.S. Tomorrow I am going to a Mommy's group because despite my annoyance and anger and how often I feel like I have to repress rolling my eyes there really really really are tremendous women there who can teach me a lot and who's fellowship I enjoy despite not really feeling like I fit in. They are all trying, in their own ways to figure it all out, to do their best, to love their families, to balance selfish whims with responsibility...I get that.

Brady (Hopefully) Brabson

I can only imagine the scene taking place now at the house of my sister-in-law, Mary Brabson's tonight.

Mary and Andy have been in the domestic adoption process for over a year.

Two days ago they received a phone call that a child was born and they had been chosen to become his parents.

The nursery is prepared, walls painted yellow, giraffe's and green jungle scenes cheerfully decorating a room that has been empty, waiting, all this time.

I imagine that they are running around, trying to think of any last minute things they possibly might need to do or buy before their son comes home.

Many families receive a ninth month period of preparation. Andy and Mary have been given a few days to prepare for this homecoming.

I can see Andy speeding through Toy-r-Us, tossing items into a cart, anxious, nervous, in love.

I can see Mary walking into the silent nursery and imagining what sounds will fill it in just a matter of days...crying, laughter, grunts, and giggles. Soon the sounds of life will fill up that little room.

They have set their love on little Brady, with his thick head of Hispanic hair, and tiny little features.

Today, Brady is in ICU with pnemonia. He is expected to continue to recover and may go HOME later this week.

As much as Andy and Mary are in a state of preparation and excitement, they are also entirely vulnerable to heartbreak now. Even after bringing little Brady home, his birth mother and birth father have time, through the law, to change their minds.

It is the heart struggle of every adoptive parents. On one hand we celebrate with great joy if a birth mother and birth father choose to keep their child, with love and commitment involved. On the other hand, holding a child, calling him your very own, and having to let him go is absolutely heart wrenching.

I am so proud of Andy and Mary at this moment. They are embracing the vulnerability of this bond. They are preparing regardless of the risk. They are hoping despite the fears. They are loving this child, simply to love him.

Andy and Mary are loving a child as their own simply because regardless of what occurs in the coming days his birth and life is worth celebrating, worth loving, worth the heartbreak.

In our own little home we are buzzing with excitement, lifting up prayers, printing off pictures. We are proclaiming in faith that nothing will stand against this adoption being finalized.

So many of my blog readers are adoptive parents. Please pray with us for Andy, Mary and Brady. We look forward to announcing some very good news in just a few days, that Brady became a Brabson afterall!


Andy, Mary and BRADY we love you!

My Shadow

Yesterday I casually threw on jeans and an old striped sweater. The Moose dug threw his clothing until he found jeans and a striped sweater. He insisted that I keep mine on all day, bringing it to me when I took it off, telling me that we have to match.
The other day he stood with his hand in his pocket and a baseball cap on. He smiled and said, "I look just like Daddy." He was proud of that, so was his daddy.

When I drink milk he wants milk.
When I work on my laptop, he pulls out his laptop.
When I say that I do not like something, he agrees.
When I do my hair he hands me the hairspray and asks for some. I tell him it for girls and he huffs. "I am a girl Mom." I explain to him that he is a boy. He thinks for a minute. "Am I a boy like Daddy?". I tell him yes and he is very satisfied with this answer.
When I got a tattoo he wanted a tattoo. He tells everyone with great pride that his Mommy has a tattoo and that he has one too. He shows off his tribal mark, a large scar on his back with a smile on his face. "This is my tattoo, just like Mommy's"
He carries his doll baby on his back, wrapped to him, just like I carried him. He insists on this says that he is bonding with his baby before he falls over and collapses on the poor plastic child.

He walks around the house with his handfuls of matchbox cars. He plays with them, using his imagination. Yesterday one of his cars was going to work. The car kissed the other cars goodbye and told them, "I will be home tonight. I love you." The best part was when the car came back into the room and said, "Honey, I forgot my lunch!", before speeding off again into imagination land.

Moose was singing Van Morrison at breakfast. I have a cold. He patted my back and said as clear as can be to me. "Come here Mommy. I will give you a hug and you will feel better. Give me some love."

I promptly fell out of my chair and he told me that I needed to use my manners.

When I go to the bathroom he pats me on the back and says, "Good boy Mom." He then tells everyone in the bathroom that his mommy went potty and does not spare any details. It usually gets a good laugh.

This morning I was putting on a little make up for a big outing to the grocery store. Moose stood in the bathroom, just hanging out. I told him that he could go to his room and play, that I would not mind if he wanted to go do something fun.

He smiled and said, "No Thanks. I'm just going to watch you."

Seriously, I felt more in that moment than I have ever felt in my life. More love. More responsibility. More amazement.

He watches every single thing I do. He studies how I respond to everything. He sees how I love. He pulls apart my responses. He yells at Puka because I yell at Puka.
He says sometimes when he is on the phone, "You are kidding me!" because I say that.
He prays because he sees me pray. The other night he said, "Jesus thank you for Auntie Ellie and for Boompa and for me because I am precious."
He said that, he believes that, because we tell him that. We tell him he is precious and he is.

Today, I bent down and thanked him for letting me hang out with him. I said, "Mommy just wanted to let you know how wonderful you are." I gave him a big kiss. "I have had such a nice time with you this morning."

He smiled and said, "Your welcome, Mommy" and then as he walked away from me to go find some toys he stopped and turned. "Mom?", he asked.
When our eyes met he said, "You did a nice job saying Thank You. That was good manners. Would you like a marshmellow?"


A lot of the time I feel totally and completely ill-prepared to be a parent. I feel selfish and tired and I question myself a lot. I wonder if I am doing this parent thing right. But, then I look at the fruit of my labor and I see it blossoming beyond my own comprehension into something beautiful and lovely and compassionate.

During Sesame Street this morning some groovy music came on. I saw motion out of the corner of my eye. Moose was dancing and laughing. "Mom!", he said, "Look at me. Look at my butt. My butt is dancing!".

I knew then, in that little moment, that I must be doing somethings right.

Adoption

While in Ethiopia I met three children who for whatever reason had a particularly strong impact on me. It was like love actually. I loved them immediately.
During the days when Mussie and I were at Layla House we spent time with these three, getting to know them, passing time with them, being touched even more by their lives.
I can say that we did the normal ~ singing, laughing, joke telling, relaxing, hair braiding, story telling, horse playing. I can also say we did the unexpected~ dancing the night away around a bonfire, trucking through Addis together in a big red van searching for Chinese food, dressing up for Halloween using tin foil and feathers.

My mother and grandmother also met them. Within a moment of the meeting my mother was in love. She said that Natty reminded her of my brother. She could not get enough of them.

Before I left for home with Mussie gifts were given and notes were exchanged. I wanted to promise that I would find them a family, but I did not want to promise anything I could not keep. Instead, I promised I would write and I did. I have.

Not longer after we came home and settled I started talking with Jason about adopting these three children, two of which are siblings. He asked me to work for a time and see if I could find them a family, perhaps a family a bit older than us. These children are all ten years and older.

I talked with people at our church. I sent emails out to anyone I thought might be interested. I sent emails to people I did not think would be interested. I convinced people to have lunch with me. I begged in some cases.

Finally, after a time a lady emailed me back. She lives in Washington and has adopted 17 children. SEVENTEEN!
She wanted to know everything she could about B, she and her husband felt that there was still one child missing in their lives. I told her everything I knew. Within a few days they submitted the paperwork and began the process for the seventeenth time. B has now been home, in Washington for several months. He is doing well. He is happy. They adore him. He takes everything apart, wondering how it works, and then puts it back together. He fashions his own toys out of items in the recycle bin. He loves his siblings. He is going to be a cowboy.

The two other children, N and B, continued to have my heart. N and I wrote back and forth, we still write back and forth actually. My friend Sherry (also bringing home three darling Ethiopian children soon!!!) set me up on a lunch date with a lovely family looking to adopt. They were interested, but the Lord led them in a another direction and now they have two beautiful daughters from the US foster system.

I think I talked about them a lot, but I honestly can not recall. I know I prayed for them and thought of them often. I sent letters off to them and jumped up and down when I received one back. They are in stacks now on my bookshelf, treasured little notes of paper and stickers.

One night Jason and I were laying in bed and the phone rang. It was my mom.
She sounded excited. I almost did not believe her when she broke the news.
She and my stepfather had contacted the adoption agency on their own and were pursuing an adoption. She said she was so touched by the children in Ethiopia, by these two children in particular that she could think of no reason why they should not adopt them. "You keep looking to find them a family, but we are a family. We can adopt them."

It has been interesting watching my mother prepare to become a parent again. Most of us do not get to witness our parents in the process of becoming a parents, being that we came after the fact. The giggles. The planning. The questions. The nerves. The thoughts. The random buying a silly childish things. The waiting. The hopes.

After many months of paperwork and uncertainty my mother and stepfather were able to celebrate their very own "Gotcha Day" this week. Natty and Bethlehem, an absolutely precious brother and sister, had their cases heard in court and are now officially Nuzzi's.

Now, my son will have an Ethiopian Aunt and Uncle. And not only that, but an Ethiopian Aunt and Uncle that knew him and loved him while he was at Layla House, before he ever knew me. A piece of his tiny history in the form of two children now writing letters about how they can not wait to teach him soccer, how they have loved him always, and are so excited to be his Uncle and Aunt.

My brother, sister, and I now have two new siblings. I can not express how exciting that is and how daunting at the same time.

My mom and stepdad now have two children, although not of their own blood, but of their own doing, of their own journey. That is really powerful for them.

And, mostly these two children once again have a family.

I just received a letter from Natty. It is the first one that I have received since he learned the news.

He wrote that he has been clinging to Jeremiah 29:11 ever since I gave it to him. He wrote that now it is his very favorite verse because God has FULFILLED the promise he gave to him. That he would give him HOPE, that he would give him a FUTURE, that he would give him a FAMILY. He also wrote that his greatest wish, all this time, had been that the family God would give he and his sister would be ours.

Congratulations Mom and Pop on taking steps of faith together, on being vulnerable and opening your hearts to two children across the ocean. Congratulations on becoming parents through adoption, it is truly a miracle. Thank you for letting God use you to answer a little boys prayer, that he and his sister might have a family and that they might also get to play a little bit in the snow.






On another celebratory note my brother-in-law and sister-in-law have been in the domestic adoption process for a long while now. They received news TODAY that a baby boy has been born and has been placed with them. Until it is official I am not going to talk more about this, but please be in prayer. The little baby Brabson is in ICU right now due to swallowing fluids at birth, but he is recovering very well.
They will be bringing him home to a long awaited nursery in the coming week.
This is also a prayer answered and I can not wait to post more of this amazing story and pictures of Brady Brabson as soon as the paperwork process has completed.


In one week we have gained Natty, Bethie, and Brady all through adoption.
Love it. Love it. Love it.

MPM"s and Keeping to the code......

A moment of promotion, if you will oblige~ my pals Sarah and Alisha and I do a little Meal Planning website that today, was recognized on a really cool and big website as BLOG OF THE DAY! Whoop. Whoop. We have been getting lots of email, hits, and people sending in ideas. Our little website, created to motivate us to meal plan, has actually starting going somewhere. So, check us out. We were TIP JUNKIE's Blog of the Day. Another Whoop Whoop.
Note: I hate meal planning. If I could I would eat the following every single day and be absolutely content: Avocado on Wheat Tortilla all folded up with a bit of salt, Pinto beans over corn bread, and chips and pico de gallo.....that would be it for me. But, my two main squeezes pictured below are a bit more picky and require actual meals. One of these days though I am going to have a really big garden and when the family is hungry I am just going to shove them all outside and tell them to pick something!


NOW, ONTO THE CODE..............


As promised in my list, seen a few post below, I vowed to find beauty in winter. Here are a collection of pictures that I have taken...last week I think. I'm a bit behind.










And, just to show you it was me taking the pictures.....

Sesame Street Classics:

The Natural Born Sender

The Moose and I have a favorite song. In keeping with my "make it through winter list" I have been playing music in our home, intentionally pulling out old favorites and seeking out new ones thanks to .99 cent itunes.
John Lee Hooker has long been a favorite, ever since my hole in the wall mind blowing blues experience in Mississippi during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina (another story all together).
The past couple of days we have been singing a classic John Lee Hooker song around here called Solid Sender.
The Moose dances around pretending to play his guitar. I think he is the only two year old that can sing the blues fairly convincingly. I am proud of that.
Jason even picked up on the song and I found him singing today in the kitchen.

I listened to him closely.

"Your a solid CENTER baby....." he sang.

No no no no no no. I told him that was all wrong and repeated the correct lyrics.
He nodded his head in understanding.

"Your a solid CINDER baby..." he sang.

No no no no no no. Again, you have it wrong.

We sat down at the table, this was something that had to be explained.

"Honey, the lyrics are "You's a SOLID SENDER BABY....."

His reply: That does not make sense. I do not like the song anymore. I liked it when it was solid CENTER or solid CINDER, but I do not like Solid Sender.

I asked him to explain.

When he thought that the song was SOLID CENTER it made sense to him. He saw the woman in the song the CENTER of the man's world, as his focus of his efforts, attention, love, labor...

When he thought that the song was SOLID CINDER it made sense to him. He saw the woman in the song as a CINDER block. She was tough, strong, and held the man together like a rock.

I shook my head and read to him the lyrics for Solid Sender by John Lee Hooker:

You's a solid sender, babe.
Baby, you send my soul.
You's a solid sender, babe.
Baby, you send my soul.
I lay my hands on your body, baby
You chill me, you chill me through and through.

You don't wear no fine clothes, baby.....

You don't wear no lipstick and powder, baby
When you send my soul, send my soul on fire....

You's a natural born sender, baby
You's a natural born sender, baby

You, sender, sender, I declare you a natural born sender, baby
You send my soul, send my soul....


His response in all seriousness, "So does she work at the post office or someplace where she is mailing packages all the time?"

We agreed to disagree on the meaning of the song. Jason has been tormenting me all day by strumming his guitar (which I love) but singing about a SOLID CINDER BLOCK. He says he likes this version better.

It is so interesting how music can speak to one person, make them homesick for something they never knew even, and go right past another persons with little effect. It is interesting how our very understanding of the same lyrics can mean something so different. Music is fascinating.

~ KLB, who is working on being the Solid Sender, Center, and Cinder for a man that that asked if John Lee Hooker was from Mexico.