Pull The Trigger

I've come to realize - perhaps it's an age thing, or a recent life experience, or observation of friends' crazy awesome decisions, or a simple glance over to our (new) family room at a wee girl, in our (new to us) house in our (new) city - but regardless of who we are or the path we've chosen, it's all so very finite.

Not unlike the thoughts here, I (try!!) daily, to seek fulfillment of passion(s). As more friends, family, acquaintances meet Makeda - especially those who hoped, prayed, cried, laughed, ached with us for years through the wait - I am reminded of the definable time we will spend here. Alive. Not to sound overly morbid but that's reality, right?

Making the decision to move, to uproot our children (even the one not yet home), to pack up one.big.house. to move to another we hadn't yet seen (oh yes, we bought it sight unseen), leaving the only place we had ever known as a married couple and family...that was difficult. Excruciating in some ways.

And for me, it took another one of those "we can't nearly miss it" trains of thought.

Because who wants to look back five years and wonder "what if". No thanks.

And who wants to do something without whole-hearted, full-on, make-your-heart-ache passion? Nope.

We were in a situation which we loved. We were comfortable. We were mostly content. The same passion, however, didn't exist as perhaps it did a year or two (or more) ago. Blame it on the adoption. Becoming aware of a situation about which we had only read but in which weren't personally implicated - that did it. Or perhaps, instead of being blameful, we should be grateful and thankful and full of joy. Feeling perhaps we weren't being a (small) part of the solution - weren't being used to our full capacity - it wasn't enough.

So, we pulled the trigger.

That was the hardest, most gut wrenching, near-sickening thing. Because it's a big deal. We weren't moving somewhere to be near family...a known place to us, the familiar. It was more the opposite. Leaving the familiar, to venture into the unknown.

Yet that's part of the adventure of passion, is it not? Taking the leap of faith and just going for it...knowing we could aways be (somewhat) comfortable where we were but wanting more.

And when it was all said and done, papers were signed, people were called, children were told, it felt good and right. And inevitably somewhat scary. Again though: our time is is finite. There was no do-over or rewind button. Had we not made the decision to move and stayed where we were comfortable it would have been fine.

And can I just say, God blesses us when we follow His lead.

Always and every time.

And we love it here (!!!!!!!!).

Difficult moments, sure. A tougher transition for a certain six year old, yes. Not all the same comforts of home, perhaps not. Different comforts - which likely, will soon mirror the old ones in familiarity. Yet, there is an inexplicable joy and ache for this (now quite personal) passion. We are grateful each day that we pulled the trigger.

Because now we don't have to wonder. We have the privilege of being a small part of the difference.

And now new bucket lists are beginning to form. Not so uprooting and life changing but passion-driven nonetheless.

Don't second guess. Analyze, weigh out your pros and cons. Think on it. And if it's right, if you know way down you'll regret passing it by - then simply pull.

The joy and peace and gratitude and anticipation and passion and heart and excitement which will follow and which you will exude will be evidence enough that in your "one chance" finite journey, you've just enhanced the ride.

Plus, nothing ventured nothing gained, right?

OCC Reminder: It's Collection Week

Makeda would like to remind you that it's Operation Christmas Child's Shoe Box Collection Week. (Phew, that was a mouthful.)

Your box could be the light that shines through the darkness of a small child's year.

Multi-Tasking

Who says you can't clean your kid and cook a roast within the same hour? Make hay while the sun shines!

Don't "Nearly" Miss It

When we started our journey, we ate up any adoption resource we could find. We sought out organizations supporting, encouraging, embracing, founded on adoption. A couple captured our hearts, one of which is Show Hope. We soaked up interviews and gave to the cause. We found more passion through the words of Steven Curtis Chapman.

We dove into our adoption journey head first at the start of March 2008, on April 29 we had (endured?) our first homestudy interview and on May 21, 2008 SCC's youngest adopted daughter Maria, was killed at their family home.

I remember the day clearly. I remember wondering why. Why would all this happen - a little girl born with hypothetical special needs - a diagnosis which would later be debunked. A family (a family in the spotlight nonetheless!) all the way from the US, not planning to adopt but feeling the call, urge and desire, united with her.

And then tragedy.

Tragedy that makes you scream and cry and question everything you know.

And I know now, why. Maybe you do too. Or at least I am quite certain I do. I'd encourage you to read more on the story. Her story - the short life this little girl led which has left such a legacy, a narrative which has given hope to thousands of orphans.

The thing is this...before all the tragedy we watched an interview in which SCC was interviewed about their adoption experience and journeys - and how they thought they were done and three kids and their hearts weren't open to more. Life was comfortable...stable, there was no need to rock the boat. And then how their teen daughter encouraged them and shared with them about her missions trip to china and the children there with no parents...who needed just that.

And what SCC said next stuck with Ben and I - and will continue to do so likely for the rest of our lives. Because, though our situation was completely different, we were in many ways, in the same boat.

Time and again, we nearly gave up for the exhaustion of the whole thing. Over and over we questioned whether we could continue to willingly, consciously, daily, put ourselves through the trials of the wait.

"We nearly could have missed it" he said.

We. We could have nearly missed it.

They nearly missed the blessing that was their first adoption...and then their second...and then the third.

And they never would have known the joy of which their lives would have been void.

Neither would we.

And regardless of the opportunity which will present itself to you (and there will undoubtedly be a couple which seem big enough to be of dreamlike quality), jump.

Do it.

Don't look back. Be nervous or apprehensive and allow the knot in the pit of your stomach to churn...you are human after all. And, if the churning isn't there then perhaps the dream isn't "big" enough.

And while you wait, don't waste time. Because each day can only be lived once.

I recall an interview in the days soon after the Chapman's family tragedy and SCC was asked if he regretted any of their adoption decisions. Not that they regretted adopting their children but rather, had it been possible to avoid all the pain and the darkness through which they currently dwelled, would they have changed their minds - you know, the hindsight question. Had they not pursued a third and final adoption none of the excruciating pain could have seeped it's way into their lives.

Their reply was that they wouldn't have changed a thing because of the hope, the joy, the love Maria brought into their lives. Hope, joy and love which wouldn't have been awakened without her. She brought a dynamic - as we all do in our unique way - into their family, which they wouldn't have experienced in the same way, had she not been there. They would have missed the(ir) blessing.

And we get it now. More than ever. More than words can accurately portray...the blessing. Your blessing. It's there. Perhaps the path is winding. Possibly it's a spec in the distance...but you know it's there and upon it, you set your sights.

Don't ever been afraid to follow that bucket list because our time here is finite, short, and we get one shot. Press on. Don't waste it.

Don't let them sway, waver, or fall from that spec that is your blessing.

There's hope.

Even when situations seem bleak, and giants seem overwhelming. There's hope.

And the blessing that flows from that, well, it will change you.

In Her Best Interest

We survived our first PPR last week.

The Social Worker came, and what do you know: she didn't bite. Actually, had we been blessed by her presence during our initial homestudy a whopping three and a half years ago, that whole part of the process could have been a little less...ummmm...stressful.

I digress.

It all went off without a hitch and we didn't feel like we'd just been judged on our parenting skills by the time the interview was over.

I received the report a few days later and after editing a few small areas, I neared the end. I had spent the last several minutes reliving our interview without so much as a second thought until I found myself stuck at the last line...

"The finalization of this adoption was clearly in the child's best interests."

The ache. It returned simultaneously with the lump in my throat.

I still struggle with that line. I think I always will. After our afternoon of good-byes at the orphanage, a small part of me will always feel some conflict at the wonder of this.

Quantitatively. Objectively. Yes. This is in the child's best interest. When chatting with an agency representative who has been in this line of work (and passion) for several years while in Ethiopia, we were told that there are approximately 7000 'new' orphans each year. About 5000 of them are adopted (internationally).

The math's pretty easy on that one.

Your heart may have just broken a little...mine did.

The stark reality of what we are accustomed to reading is close to home now.

Many, most, if not all of the remaining 2000 will end up on the streets. Yes, there are alternatives for some of them...but not all. 2000. Each year. And the famine's not going to end any time soon. My apologies if that statement is not full of hope or faith. I have hope and faith. I'm also aware of the gravity of the situation as it currently stands and while I believe that with (much) time we will see change, Rome wasn't built in a day and disasters don't happen, nor are they healed overnight.

And so, wherever these 2000 are...it is not in their best interest - objectively speaking.

They are however, surrounded by and living within their culture. They know (possibly) of some family tradition or at least tradition deeply rooted in their country. It's likely they have an aunt or uncle, cousin or friend-like-a-sibling with whom they can relate. Subjectively this could be in their best interest.

Yet, when I see Makeda's eyes light up when she is spoken to in Amharic (a huge blessing from our move here) or when I try to fumble my way through "Ameseginalehu", I have to truly wonder if this is in her best interest in every way, shape, and form. And, as I see the twinkle in her eyes sparkle just a wee bit brighter I am motivated to immerse our family in her culture. To try hard. To work better. To want more. For her.

The finalization of this adoption is in her best interest, but we are really going to have to work to make sure that it's in her best interest as she grows up. And, as she realizes the culture she left behind. And as she asks about her heritage. And as she notices that her skin is brown and her brothers' skin is not and when she asks why. When it comes to food, water, and shelter this adoption is in her best interest. Yet when it comes to tradition and the phenomena on which we cannot put a price tag, we will truly need to ache for her and seek for her and celebrate with her, all those things which make her...her.

Pack It: The Shoebox

I have been meaning to post this for awhile. I was reminded this morning. The season is quick and short-lived but so impactful.

Pack Your Shoebox.

I love this.

Annually Samaritan's Purse ramps up the Operation Christmas Child production (staffing, lines, shipping, passion). Providing children with (much) less with some small amount of joy.

What a great, simple, fun way to teach your children well. What a Saturday morning full of impact. What a fantastic way to be the blessing that could stay with a child - likely wondering where his/her next meal may come from - through the entire year.

A simple sixty minutes of your time, lasting throughout three hundred and sixty five days.

Do it here...(if you don't have the time, do it online and chose whether you want to help a wee boy or girl or both, here)...

Be the blessing...

Love on the vulnerable, innocent, children - who deserve more.

Christmas is coming. It should come for everyone.

That's our responsibility, isn't it.

What To Do With The Pumpkin...Simply

The pumpkin was purchased. The intention, as with all other households who purchase a pumpkin in October was to design and carve.

It never happened.

There she sat. (Apparently it's okay to personify the pumpkin.)

I have to say, cutting through the traditionally large orange squash is my nemesis...it's right up there with sticking sharp pokey things in my eyes. Why? Well, because chances are good I'm going to end up sticking a sharp pokey thing in my hand. It's just awkward, you know?

I digress.

More than my aversion to slicing large gourds, I can't stand seeing waste. So, Friday afternoon I took the plunge. Blood (sweat, and tears) free.

My third least favourite thing (next to cutting pumpkin and wasting anything) is piling a bunch of large, awkwardly sliced pieces into a pot (after having equally as awkwardly removed the thick skin), simmering for umpteen minutes (ah hem, some of us go a little savage with the heat and inevitably leave some sort of burnt mess), waiting for it all to cool, removing, blending, then cleaning all said items used to cook the beast.

This year, following the baby-food-making process familiar to us around here, I decided to give baking/roasting our pumpkin the old college try.

Fantastic and amazing, all rolled up into one orange chunked up pumpkin was the result.

Forty five minutes in a 400 degree oven on a pan with a teeny bit of water (only!) and the pumpkin's skin peeled right off. A potato masher in hand, I went to work. Minimal clean up (even less waste!) and I had myself a whack of pumpkin meat.

Don't think I didn't taste it.

Don't think it wasn't wonderful. There is nothing quite like a freshly roasted squash of any sort (and this, from a girl who is not a fan of squash as an overall rule).

While the seeds were roasting in the oven, I divided up the pumpkin meat...five, one cup (plus!) portions...enough for at least five loaves. Yum.

The next mountain to climb would be successfully finding and executing the creation of a delicious, healthy (!!!), easy to make loaf.

Say no more. In minutes I found this bad boy and with a little help from my 'whoa on the refined stuff' touch, it fit this family to a tee.

For anyone with the same aversion to the cancer-causing, blood-sugar-raising, wicked white stuff - what, too harsh? - feel free to use my tailored version below.

Pumpkin Bread

1/2 cup flour (white/whole wheat)*

1 cup spelt flour

2 tbsp sugar**

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1 cup (+) pumpkin puree***

1/2 cup olive oil (go easy)

2 eggs

1 tsp each nutmeg/cinnamon/all spice

Blend dry ingredients. Mix wet ingredients with spices. Fold wet ingredients into dry and continue to fold just until all is blended and moist. The key is not to over mix.

Pop in preheated 350 degree oven for 45-55 minutes. Voila. (Not only will you have one incredible loaf, your house will smell like Fall...and that in itself is worth the effort.)

A couple of keys...this recipe uses very moist ingredients so if the loaf is in the oven a couple extra minutes have no fear - it will still be good and moist! I will add flax or some other nutrition booster next time, now that I know how successfully manipulated this recipe really can be.

Now I'm off to see if there are any remaining pumpkins locally...because not only is this a cheaper-than-dirt way to help fill two (never full!) boys, but it's a fun way to satisfy the baker in some of us.

*I used spelt only for one of my loaves and it worked great! No dryness. No falling apart. Simply wonderful.

**I would hedge a bet that you could completely omit the sugar (seeing as I already cut it down from 1 full cup in the originally recipe and it still turned out fantastic). My loaves were taken to friends' places and I didn't want to shell shock them by drastically changing the recipe. I'll do this next time. Increase the spice content if it seems lacking...this will often make a huge difference without altering the (good!) nutritional value.

***I made this loaf with applesauce, thinking it would be of similar consistency (moisture) to pumpkin puree...and whaddya know, it is!

Makin' Them...Ah Hem - It...Work For Us

I take my hat off to families with five, six, seven, (etc) kids. Seriously. You're my heroes. Or just downright nuts. Though, I know there are a few tricks in the bag with that thought process. With two kids you hope and pray they play well together and when they do, you maximize that time to a) relax b) more likely blitz the house.

Three has been an interesting routine, rhythm, mould into which we continue to form this little family. On the one hand, having kids who are slightly "older"(and let the record show I am using that term very loosely - they are often more work that the babe), can be of benefit. However, there are mornings I wonder if I'm breaking the Guinness Book Of World Records for the number of times one Mama can say "get your shoes/jacket/lunch/backpack and get in the car!!!!!". (Oh what, it's like that at your place too?) It's taken time but we're finding our rhythm. The clock can show a number no greater than 8:13 before it's go time...we've learned that. We praise one another when we're in the car and it's 8:15. And state the common goal to improve the following morning if we see anything past that. Rome wasn't built in a day people.

But here's what I've found. Any offspring number greater than two (especially with a significant age gap) and you can really get the system to work for you.

Take last week. Two were eating breakfast and one was still sleeping (she's pretty great at that). The thought of a shower was fantastically enticing the phrase "don't fight" was verbalized and off I went for two (well, maybe four) minutes of bliss.

Three minutes into that, a knock came at the door and I sighed in dismay at the anticipation of a likely tattletaler. Wrong.

"Makeda's crying so we went in to make her smile."

Fantastic.

And I took my time for another ten minutes after getting out...walked into her room, and there are two small children racing cars while the wee one kicks her legs in excitement at the notion that they are playing in her room. Keep in mind I think she's got them figured out more than they believe and she's likely thinkin' that it's all going just the way she'd planned. Well played Makeda, well played.

This morning is another prime example of how the system...this "larger family" multiple siblings thing can really play out to the advantage of the Mamas and Daddies...

{one load of laundry, several dishes, and one wee blog post later, she's started to voice her request to be removed from the current vantage point. fair enough...it has been 45 minutes}

Sheepishly Empowered

The determination required to successfully complete any significant task can be chalked up to faith, stubbornness, perseverance, intense desire, passion, and the list goes on.

When we started out in March 2008, we knew some faith and perseverance would be required. Of course we had no idea how much. And if I had a dollar for every person who had told me that adoption isn't for the faint of heart well, you know, I'd be downright filthy rich.

And now that it's over and we can reflect, I feel like I could climb any mountain. And the dreams and desires I have for me - for us...our family...well, they're bigger. And if they're not bigger I most certainly do dream with more confidence. (I think they're bigger though.)

Just as when you complete any sort of course, achieve any sort of goal, or summit any sort of rigorous peak, there's some sort of adrenaline surge that reminds you of your mortality. It makes the accomplishment that much sweeter. For me, that was the motivation I needed to stay on our journey. There were days, oh the days and weeks when we nearly threw in the towel...if only I had a tally sheet. It would have been shameful. What a blessing we would have missed. What a gift our family would have lost. I know now that the day we met with our social worker to ask her to have our file put on hold (because we couldn't stomach the roller coaster any more and our emotional well being was in jeopardy)...this was likely the day (or perhaps the week) that we were matched with Makeda and the paper chase started in Ethiopia. And I am ever indebted to the "no, we can't do it" pit-of-our-stomach ache and therefore decision to call afterward and reverse our decision.

This rush, confidence, accomplishment, it gives way to more...a desire to be, do, want, seek more.

I feel this sense of empowerment and defeat of evil by good. Some days I feel that we've won. Of course, looking over at our child as she scootches her way across the floor attempting to get her brothers' cars, I know we've won. We've been blessed. We are blessed. We survived, we clung, we rose, and conquered the (often, for us) horrific journey that was our quest to her. And through that, by coming out on the other end sane, full of faith, and now wanting - knowing that for us there is - more...well, that is nothing short of empowering.

The road is rough. The path is most certainly never straight. But when we stay the course and realize that through our mortality we have but one shot - there's no do-over - the result is nothing short of breathtaking. Glorious.

We've come out on the other end of our journey and I sheepishly admit that I am "getting something" out of this. I am benefitting. I am empowered by the fact that, with help, we have navigated ourselves through the big, giant, disastrous, messy, exhilarating, journey referred to, as International Adoption.

And here, I just thought we were bringing an orphan home.

And here, I just thought we wouldn't be all that changed.

And here, I figured life would continue as always, though as five rather than four.

When we cross our finish line - no matter how many times it feels it's been pushed further ahead - we are empowered.

When we are empowered we pursue more dreams...we have to. We ache to.

When we faithfully follow Good, we are empowered to overcome Evil.

And that is so very powerful.

Wordless Wednesday

Halloween 2011

We woke up to a dusting...which soon disappeared thanks to the sun. Did I mention how sunny it is here? I still can't get over it. I hope I never take it for granted.

She was such a good sport.

Another first.

You didn't think I'd let a photo op go by, did you? Silly people.

People here go a little...uhhh...over the top?...get a bit excited?...are slightly enthusiastic?

Isn't the sky beautiful...a perfect backdrop to the giant spider across the door?!

Regardless, we had two of the world's best Superheroes here to protect the world's sweetest Sunflower.

Sunday...In Short

Quickly...

...specialist test results are coming back. the week included few extra visits to local healthcare clinics and the like. nothing 'scary'...just precautionary.

...we are super pleased with levels of vit D and iron...levels uncommon for recently adopted african children...such a blessing! we are suspect of some of the reasons for such fantastic results - and are so pleased about choices we have made regarding her diet and supplements.

...some tests have come back positive and we're not surprised. all things/diagnoses we can (and are!) dealing with simply. and, some things just take time.

...after our experience, i don't feel a specialist should be optional when bringing our children home...especially from developing countries. they are savvy beyond what our GPs would think to look and test for. (if you're looking for a recommendation i've got one to give!)

...tomorrow. halloween. last year was their first - initiation, we'll say. this year...hmmm...as you well know, we now live in suburbia. we love it. and one round of our block should about fill treat bags. please don't take this as any indication of our giving way to sugar or other refined-like stuff. we are always elated to learn that when our 6 year old comes home from hot dog day he has chosen mustard over ketchup and put the sucker in his backpack that someone in class handed out. but when you live in an area such as ours, it's important your kids don't feel 'ostrasized' from (by) their peers. for them, it's about the dressing up and playing around and letting them be kids. and a treat here or there will be the added bonus.

We Moved. Boy, Did We Move.

Let me preface this by saying I think we can often feel change coming. Like the ominous clouds that precede the BC rains, we just know. It can begin with a gentle tap on the heart which, if ignored or unnoticed will morph into a scratch and then more of a pound until it is impossible to ignore. Perhaps one of us is discontent, then the other. It climaxes when both feel a stirring simultaneously. It's not a fluke or a haphazard realization.

It's time.

For us, it started about three and a half years ago. Not that we felt anything then. Not even an whisper. We felt the calling, the desire, the urge, the need to adopt. From far away. That was it.

And along the journey we changed. We were changed. We have been changed. And yes, we will continue changing.

With a heart for where we were, we felt there was something more...different. What we had seen was raw and real and our passion was being drawn somewhere different, somewhere new, somewhere unknown to us...but through this unknowing and unknown, we felt content. Together. Affirmed. Confident.

And so, four days before we were to fly to Ethiopia we flew a province east. For a whopping twelve hours. (It was all we had...in the middle of an intense week...the first week of camp.) And, at the end of that same week, the night before we left for our court trip to meet our daughter for the first time, we came to the decision that this is what would be.

Our life as a family was about to change drastically in more ways than any of us could have imagined.

Less than two months later, the summer barely behind us we packed up our house (having already purchased another one sight unseen, registered the boys in school and soccer, and all the while trying to figure out whether we were coming or going) in the middle of our Visa wait.

Timing was everything.

We had spoken with our agency to find out what would in fact happen, should we move inter-provincially while not having completed our adoption. I mean, she was legally ours but not yet home. And if we've learned anything through this journey it's this: it's not over until it's over. And it wasn't over. Makeda wasn't in our arms.

We found out that while working outside the province was fine, should we no longer be residents of the province in which we were approved to adopt we would have to register with a new (provincial) agency to update everything. Oi Vey. Money doesn't grow on trees, time wasn't on our side, and we had no desire to redo our homestudy all for the sake of a couple weeks' timing.

Wanting to do nothing that wasn't above reproach or integral, we kept our house (yeah...we owned two for awhile), and everything else that would ensure our residency requirement was met. We anticipated being in our new home, city, province for many weeks before receiving our Visa call.

Wrong.

On September 12th, we arrived in our new city. (City! Keep in mind we're from a town, population 2500.) And, had it not been an Ethiopian holiday we would have found out that same day that our visa was in. As we all know, two days later that call (actually email) came. Wow.

Talk about a blitz. I've never unpacked so much in one go. I've never burned the midnight oil, tried to figure out my head from my tail and maintained some sort of sanity all at the same time. A fantastic friend made sure Makeda's room was painted (two coats!) all in one day. She made food for her (I may have sat and watched a lot of this...it's all a blur), so that once we were home there wouldn't be (as) much to worry about. Family helped out in countless ways.

Six days after arriving in Alberta, four days after receiving word of the Visa, and a day before Ben started his new job (the reason for the move!) I left for Ethiopia.

So where are we feeling fulfillment now? Here.

And each day I hear new stories of Relief taking place and I swell with joy. And I ache with passion - passion for a job I don't even do! But to be a part of this new family, with a child who comes from a country in which they serve brings immense joy.

And when we tell people we just moved from BC they look at us like we have two heads and three eyes.

Why?! They exclaim, as though we've just been hit by the stupid train.

And we explain.

But it's cold...you just wait, they say.

Yes, we've heard, we often reply. And then we look up. And the skies are blue. They are clear blue and the sun shines every day!

And more to the point: This is where we are meant to be.

And as the pictures continue to be hung (those are always the last aren't they?!), this house is starting to feel like a home.

And, while we miss friends and parts of life in BC we are making new ones. When the "polite" chat is colloquial that will be nice. And I don't think it will take all that long...people are so very friendly here. They are approachable and helpful and wow. And things are becoming familiar. And comfortable. And the streets are beginning to make sense.

We've been welcomed with open (!) arms and for that we are so very grateful.

This is home now.

Celebrating 11 Months

She's eleven months today.

Hitting the 3rd percentile for length, somewhere in the neighbourhood of 15 - 50th percentile for weight, and the 97th percentile when it comes to head circumference.

Well, when you boast a length (or lack thereof) and a head circumference as above, you must most certainly be a Keizer.

To celebrate, a day early, we headed to Children's Hospital for a full specialist work up. (I truly hope, after all this time, you are picking up just some of that sarcasm.) All is well. For all intensive purposes our wee babe is as healthy as can be. A couple of tests will likely give way to some anticipated diagnoses and we'll quickly work to fix (rid!) those. I am so glad we have taken the extra time to see not only a GP but a Specialist. One who is intrigued, researched and more aware of all those "little" details...ailments...potentially hidden, when bringing a child home from her developing country.

Included in our visit today was blood work. Lots. Of. Blood. Work.

Seven wee vials, to be precise.

And not a tear. Thumb in her mouth, she turned to watch as the technician gently poked to find a vein with her fingers and then followed with the needle. "It's slightly smaller than a hair," the technician told me, when describing the size (diameter) of the vein.

Goodness.

The vein clotted after five vials and they gently manoeuvred the needle around in her arm. They got another vial. Not quite enough of the red stuff. They removed the needle, we turned her around and they worked on the other arm. ("This vein is a little smaller than the other" she said. How is that even possible, I wondered.) She fussed this time. In her defence they were pricking the arm which held, at the end of it, the hand with the thumb...The. Thumb. Her self-soothing device was unreachable.

I would have fussed too.

And then it was done. Just like that.

Home a month yesterday, today she's 11 months.

Each day we love her more than the last. Each day we don't think it's possible to love her more than in that moment.

And yet, we always find a reason...without even trying.

(Under The Coffee) Table Talk

She Cuts Her First Tooth...

YAY!!!!

About The Babe

As we continue to find our rhythm, in so many ways and areas of our life as five, I am continually struck by the leaps and bounds we observe...and I'm just as certain there are as many we aren't noticing.

Makeda continues to grow - those little fingers, thighs, that tush...they're all boasting sweet rolls. The one-size (fits all) cloth diapers will soon need expansion. Only three weeks ago wearing 3-6 month clothing consistently, she now boasts 6-9 month sizing. I'm ecstatic and sad at the same time. My baby. Our baby. She's growing - and while I realize she's still physically slightly behind where (by North American standards) she should be, she seems big(ger) to me.

She's healthier.

I can see this.

Her hair is coming in. The bald patches diminish, the hair thickens everywhere.

Her cheeks. They are round!

Her smile - it's now found it's deep belly chuckle when tickled in just that right spot. Or, should I say spots? Oh, the girl is ticklish.

And she mimics. Oh, can she ever shadow what we are doing.

What this tells me is her language acquisition and vocabulary are growing in leaps and bounds.

She continues to eat like a grown man. (We'll be surprised if Monday's visit to the specialist doesn't confirm our suspicion of parasites.) And she'll eat anything. "Real" people food. Suppers pureed are thoroughly enjoyed...tuna casserole, scalloped potatoes, guacamole. She loves it all.

But keep eggs the heck away.

Unless you'd like to experience a scream which I am sure only most dogs can hear, don't waste your time, energy, or money on givin' the girl eggs. For the love, don't do it.

Since coming home we've started her on a regime of DHA and pro-biotics to which we attribute some of her (noticeable/unnoticeable) development.

And the poop...well, it's getting better. And the days it's great, I rejoice and smile as the cloth diapering is even more enjoyable on those days. But regardless, I love it. Love it. (The diapers...not so much the poop.)

Her twelve hour nightly stints continue also. She'll wake about one night a week for a bottle but otherwise we all sleep through. Mercifully. Her naps also continue at around two and a half hours.

We attribute a lot of our successful sleeping patterns to Babywise. We read and practiced many of the teachings in this book with our boys and while we've been exceedingly cautious to prioritize bonding and attachment over some of the methods suggested in this book, there are many exercises we have embraced. Written by a Pastor, endorsed MD it also embraces the habits and health of the family we strive to be.

{friends at last!}

She continues to skootch forward on her tummy when motivation (ah hem, the iPad/iPod) presents itself.

The boys continue their lives, their days, playing, schooling, and routines, as if she's always been here. The adjustment for them...from two to three...there's no possible way it could have gone any more smoothly. They love her. Adore her. Call her sweet baby. Snot face. (It's endearing, really.) I hear sweet girl and cutie pie too. These, coming especially from the mouth of a four year old, are to be bottled up and stored.

There is nothing more genuine.

And, Il pause some days.

In the midst of a chore, preparing a meal, rubbing teeny curls moisturizer into coarse ringlets, awaiting a diaper being brought from upstairs as I didn't realize I had run out, as I look in my rear view mirror at the reflection staring back.

And I wonder how it could ever possibly get any better than this.

It doesn't.

I'm certain.

Wow

We love her.

More than we ever imagined possible.

Even when she smushes her lips up against our cheeks.

And, proceeds to suck on our cheeks.

And then she licks our cheeks.

Yes, even then...we love her more then.

It's pretty slobbery.

And wet.

And it is wonderful.