Nathan Rides the Rails

Dear Son,
This weekend you were able to visit Thomas the Train as he visited the old Heber Valley Railway.  You were so excited to go with Mama, Daddy, Uncle Nate and Aunt Al.  You had been marking off the days on the calendar for weeks.

It was overpriced and chaotic and totally worth the look on your face.

Our coach window was open.  You put your hand out the window and touched the side of the coach.  "Mama," you said, "I'm TOUCHING Thomas." 

 

 

  

It really was a perfect day.

Love,
Mama

Serpentine! Serpentine!

It happened again today.

I'm not sure if you're supposed to have a "favorite traffic interaction", but a single police car slaloming for all he's got to stop 6 lanes of traffic singled-handedly is totally my favorite traffic interaction.

There's something about watching people obey police officers that are just trying to help that makes me want to do the "STAND UP" portion of "I'm Proud to Be an American".

Except I'm driving and standing up would be bad.

Anyway, from the Countdowntohomecoming archives, I give you:  Police Improv

So there I am, in the commuter lane, minding my own business. Suddenly, on the far right lane, a highway patrol officer flips on his lights and his siren. He's only 2 cars ahead of me, so I'm RIGHT THERE for the action. I watch to see who he's going to pull over (and no, it was not me).

To all of our surprise, he begins slaloming back and forth across all 7 lanes of traffic. It's a weird thing to watch. At first you wonder if he's OK. It seems like some sort of automotive seizure. Then you frantically try to remember your Driver's Education days to see if they told you what this means and you remember that they only went over what to do when the lights and sirens are behind you and that slaloming was definitely NOT covered. Meanwhile, he's still slaloming and everyone's slowing down and trying to "SLOW" since that's what we think it means.

Of course, there's a couple of idiots who think that the entire freeway has spontaneously decided to drive 5 miles per hour for no good reason that start trying to whip around cars and get back up to the open space they can see. Seriously, friend in the white sports car... Think for two seconds. What are the odds that everyone - EVERYONE - would drive that speed simultaneously without reason. I know based on what you see on TV and music videos, sometimes it seems that people regularly break out into synchronized dance moves, but that doesn't really happen. Maybe you should get out more. People just aren't that organized.

I actually found myself talking to Mr. White Sports Car from inside my car. As I was yelling something like, "Pay attention! There's a policeman slaloming ahead! STAY BACK!" I realized that while I know the universal sign for choking, and I know what sign indicates "This is a McGruff house and it's safe to ask for help", I actually don't know enough signs to say "Police Slalom Ahead!!!" I really should have studied more Sign Language.

Which also makes me wonder how the police train for these types of things. I think they should have an improv class. It would be like, "OK, Officer Jenkins, you're up next. The scene is: Large debris on the freeway and you need to slow down all the lanes of traffic by yourself. Go!" and then Officer Jenkins would be like, "What's my motivation again?" and the teacher would be like, "Give me "Panic" and he'd be like, "OK. I'm ready" and then he'd start flipping on the lights and sirens and slaloming all over the place. And then everyone would clap at his brilliance except for Mr. White Sports Car who shouldn't be there anyway because this class is just for policemen.

Mr. White Sports Car really is an idiot.

Pardon Me, Miss... Your Threat is Showing.

Dear Sweetness,
It's so fascinating to watch you reach different milestones.  Some of them are social.  Others are verbal.  Others are physical.

You've recently picked up on the "threat" option for inter-personal communication.  I'm sure it's from the elementary school aged kids that are there in the afternoon at your daycare.

You have the concept generally correct.  "When I don't get what I want, I will threaten something worse".  However, your execution leaves something to be desired.  Mostly from your side.  You don't realize that the threat is actually supposed to be something your audience will dread.

I give you an example:

You love trains.  Mama and Daddy and Nathan are going to ride the little local train up in the canyon in a couple of weeks.  Since I told you we had tickets and were going to do that in "14 sleeps", you've been using the potential of NOT riding the train to ME.

If you don't get what you want, you huff, fold your arms and say, "Fine then!  I can't wanna ride a train wit Mama and Daddy then!"

O...K...

You don't realize that Mama and Daddy really don't care about riding the train.  On a scale from "1 to huge deal in OUR lives", it's on the "1 side."

If this were a card game and you said, "Do you have 'Not ride the train'?" I'd say, "Go fish".

That's just how it rolls when you're old, honey.

Similarly, last night you were your evil alter-ego, Señor Grumpy Pants.

Now, mind you, there have been occassions when you're having a total melt-down when Mama will say, "Should we say a prayer?" and I pick you up and hold you on my lap and we say a little prayer and ask for help to calm you down and help you feel better.

Now last night, Señor Grumpy Pants decided to THREATEN Mama.... WITH A PRAYER.

You said, "Fine then!  I'll fold my prayers!" and you huffed loudly and folded your arms, closed your eyes and bowed your head and said, very curtly and with staccato precision,  "Thank. you. for. my. Mama.  Thank. you. for. my. Daddy.  Thank. you. for. my. food.  Help. me. a. not. be. so. GRUMPY.  A-MEN!!"  and then you looked at me triumphantly with a "take that, woman!" glare.

I hope you didn't notice how fiercely I was biting my lip.

I said, "Wow... you SHOWED me!  Mama will think twice before making you dinner again.  Please don't ever PRAY in my general direction again, Nate!"

You gave me a smug look.

I had to walk away so I could laugh.

I know someday, you're going to be all attitude.  Someday you'll recognize that words hurt and that people who live under the same roof can make life hell for other people in the family.

For now, I will take your toddler threats.  I am so grateful to have you as my son, even if it means I occasionally have to parent Señor Grumpy Pants.

I love you,
Mama

Mother's Day

Dear Sweetness,
Today was Mother's Day.

I hate this holiday.  I think I always have.  I don't like Hallmark telling me what to do, so I completely loathe this day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day...

Don't even get me started on Arbor Day cards.


Church is also hard on this day.  I have had many Mother's Days without children.  Many, many years where I didn't know if I'd ever be a mother.  I've been OK with the fact that other people could have what I could not, but I know this is a hard thing for many, many women.   I know many women who avoid baby blessings and who can't stand hearing that someone else is expecting.


It can be very, very difficult to listen to Mother's Day talks about perfect mothers.


I was talking with the guys at work about Mother's Day and I said, only partially joking, that maybe instead of handing out potted plants for Mother's Day, the church should give out razor blades.  We beat ourselves up waay too much, I think.

But it's more than that, really.  I've realized in the last year and a half since you came into my life permanently that EVERY DAY is Mother's Day.


Thank you for being my son.  Thank you to your Haitian mom, B, who made the decision to let us raise you because she could not.  I know she wanted to raise you.  She changed her mind when you were about 7 months old and she took you home for a few months.  I'll never know what she went through when she decided again to place you but I'll always, always be grateful she did. 

You have changed everything in my life, Sweetness.  I don't need one day per year to realize that.

I love BEING with you.  I love living life with you by my side.  I love - not being a mom, but being YOUR MOM.

I love you,
Mama

So Interesting to Hear Your Thoughts...

Dear Sweetness,

Today on the way to Jessie's we saw a hot air balloon.  You'd never seen anything like that before. 

You said, "Mama, what dat ting?"

I explained it was a hot air balloon and that there were people in it and that they were looking at the valley.

You said, "Mama, I wanna go in one.  Please, please, please?"

I explained that it would, indeed, be very fun to go in one but that it was very expensive.  I said, "That means it costs a lot of 'monies'." (using your word for "money")

From the back seat you sighed loudly and knowingly.

"Sigh... Like elephants," you said. 

Yes, sweetness... just like elephants.

Cause in My Head There's a Greyhound Station Where I Send My Thoughts to Far off Destinations...

Dear Sweetness,
You've grown again. 7 inches since you came home.  Your grandmas say that you're taller each time they see you.  Sometimes I think you're taller each time I see you.

You're finally pretty much potty trained.  You're so pleased with yourself.

Your language skills are exploding.  You still have your own way of saying some things.  A few of my current favorites are:

blacklist - breakfast
flum - thumb or plum, depending on the context
wallermillon - watermelon
nuggle - snuggle
prootnac - fruitsnacks
sanglitch - sandwich

You love to read books and I think it's so sweet the way you relate to the characters.  One of your favorites this week is The Very Hungry Caterpillar.  I realize that Eric Carle does his pictures as tissue paper collages and that's why his books are so fun, but it also makes some of his pictures hard for you to decipher.  There's a piece of cherry pie in this book and no matter how many times I tell you that's what it is you still call it "pizza cake" (because that IS sort of what it looks like).  You love to jump ahead to the part where the caterpillar eats to much and has a tummy ache.  I think you're sad for him.  You know what it's like to have "tummy hurts"

You also love to randomly blurt out, "Mama, where it live?" and then I'll ask you "Where does what live, Sweetness" and then you say whatever random animal you've been thinking about.   Sometimes you forget that I can't hear your thoughts.  Your animal choices are things like elephants, octopus, bear, shark, horses, whales, "penglins", and sometimes it's something like "trains".  "Where trains live, mama?"

This last weekend you started your "Why" phase.  It's been the longest few days of my life  :)  I repeat it back to you each time you say it and you get very mad and I say, "yeah, it is annoying isn't it?"  Sometimes I tell you exactly why just to keep my cool.  Like today you threw a ball and it accidentally hit Mama.  I said, "Hey, you hit me!" and you said, "Why?" so I explained trajectory to you and you kept asking "why" until you used up all my physics knowledge.

At least it amuses me...

You love counting things, even though a lot of the numbers you use are made up.  Eleventeen, and twentyteen are personal favorites.

The other night you went to the store with Daddy.  When you came home, you came running down the hall and said, "Mama, I here!" and when you hugged me you said, "I came back for you."

You remember things with scary accuracy.  And sometimes you pull something out that you heard somewhere and I'm pretty sure you DIDN'T know you used it correctly.  Like the other day you asked if we could do something and I said, "We'll have to see" and you said, "That'll be the day".  After I quit laughing I asked you where you heard that and you reminded me that one of the trains says that in one of your Thomas videos.  It just happened to fit, but I don't think you know what it means.

I don't THINK you do...

I love, love, love being your Mama and I'm so proud of every little thing you do, Sweetness.

I love you.
Mama

A 13 on the BUN Scale

At work this week we started chatting about how somethings should just be WRONG no matter where you live.  There shouldn't be a culture (in my personal and oh so humble, opinion) where it's OK to try to sell or marry a child.  There shouldn't be a culture where women aren't allowed to think or have a voice or face.  There shouldn't be a culture where children can die because their parents were sucked into a Facebook game and left them to drown in the tub.

 I think we could call it the "B.U.N. Scale" for Basic Universal Nastiness.

The more I have thought about this the last few days, the more I like the idea.  It would be awesome if news stories had a BUN Scale at the beginning of the story and you could just know you'd want to tune out because the details of this story exceed your BUN Scale coping abilities.

Then I saw the local news the other day.  There was a headline that said something like, 'Man May Face Felony Charges after 9th Arrest in Girls' Locker Room".  I don't know which word in that is more disturbing:  "may" or "9th".  Repeat Offenders would get a high number on the BUN scale.  Repeat Offenders against children are practically on their own chart.  Frisking 6 year olds at the airport would be on the scale.  The three stories I've heard lately about people who have essentially locked children in rooms and treated them like animals should be scored.  This number could give judges a clear indicator of universal nastiness of some of the crimes.  It should pull into their sentencing. 

There are some other, broader social applications of this potential scale.  For example, mullets could have a rating.  Wife-beaters would get a score.  Spandex in general could have a score.  That woman that walked by me at a concert years ago who was wearing a lime-green tank top that was about 12 sizes too small for her and therefore her entire belly was hanging out - she gets a special number.  I still remember it because I was scarred by it.  SHE had the hairiest navel I've EVER seen.  I still have nightmares.  High BUN Scale factor on that one.

So I'm partly joking and I'm partly serious.  I wish there was a better way to keep kids safe, help people make choices that aren't harmful and generally help people to not bite each other.  Those things should be universally understood.  We should do a better job of taking care of each other.

Whether or not we rank she-male navels is really optional. 

The One About When God Gave the Whale a Job Chart, and Other Lesser Known Bible Stories

Dear Sweetness,
You recently developed a little issue with hitting people when you're mad.  I think you picked it up on the mean streets of daycare.  You pull your arm back as far as it will go - so your hand is clear behind your neck and you leave it there, while glaring at your victim.  You want them to know that you're locked and loaded.

When you do this to Mama, I remind you gently that if you continue with this decision, you'll have a very nice time out all to yourself.

That usually results in an extremely slow motion forward release, ending with you patting my leg and whispering, "No."

You still get timeout.  A slow motion hit in anger is still the problem. 

After many, many timeouts Mama decided to try something different.  I made a job chart for you.  If you could go 5 whole days without hitting, we'd take you to pick out a little toy.

You were very peeved about the job chart.  You kept saying, "I can't wanna make-a chart a not hit!  I can't wanna five days! "  There was a lot of weeping, wailing and teeth gnashing.  But Mama held firm. 

The next day was Sunday.  I was in Primary with you (as you still have issues with them wanting you to sit AND not cry in Primary).  You were very wiggly and ready to be done with Sharing Time.  The sister that was teaching the lesson was talking about different Bible stories.  I kept trying to get you to listen to her but you weren't having it.

Then she started talking about Jonah.  Somewhere in your wiggles, her words wafted into your mind and settled.  You realized what she was actually saying. You froze in your seat and stared at the teacher.

Then you looked at me, wide-eyed, and said,  "He got EAT by a WHALE???"

"Oh, Sweetness," I said, "There's a lot more where that came from.  I'll tell you after church."

So that afternoon, as I changed you out of your Church clothes, I told you the tale of Jonah and the whale.  I made sure it was at your level.  I told you about how Heavenly Father asked Jonah to go talk to some people because they weren't being nice and Jonah didn't want to listen.  I told you about how Jonah tried to run away, and how he ended up in the ocean and how a whale scooped him up.  I told you the whale just held Jonah in his mouth so that Jonah was safe (making it very clear he didn't EAT him) and that after three days, the whale spit Jonah back out on the land.  And that then Jonah went on to Nineveh.

I could see the wheels in your mind turning.  You were staring off into space and I could tell you were picturing something in your mind. You were trying to reconcile this crazy story your Mama had just told you and make sense out of a world where whales "sort of" eat people.

I said, "Nate, what are you thinking about?"

You said, "Heavenly Father say, "No, no, Whale.  You not eat Jonah."

I agreed that Heavenly Father probably did tell the whale not to eat Jonah.

And then you said, 'He say, 'No, whale.  You gotta be nice.  You not eat him.  You gotta make a chart.  You gotta make THREE DAYS a not eat him.  And the Whale said, 'GRRR.... I can't wanna make a chart a not eat him..."

It was so hard not to giggle as you tried to work through your continued frustration at the job chart and combined it with your new fascination with Jonah and the whale.

At least, apparently, even God gets complaints from the villagers when job charts are implemented.  The whale's anger at the job chart is my new favorite part of the story.

You continued to talk about the whale and not wanting a job chart for a good hour.  I even called Grandma and you told her the story.

I've also noticed that you seem really keen on the story of David and Goliath.  You like Daniel and the Lions' Den and you like David and Goliath.  But lately, you seem to make all of the Biblical characters "David".  You want it to be David in the lions' den.  You want it to be David that was swallowed by a whale.

Now that I think about it.... it's probably because you're so impressed that David not only got away with throwing things but he also did a serious job of hitting someone without getting in trouble.

And without getting a job chart.

I love you, Sweetness,
Mama

600th post

Sweetness,
Last night in your prayers you said "thank you for warm and comfy".

I asked you what "comfy" meant.

You said, "Nathan and Mama".

I love you, too, Little Man.

Mama

Prayers of the Children

My dear Sweetness,

One of my favorite moments of the day is helping you to say your prayers at night.

You're so sweet... when you fold your arms, you call it "folding my prayers."

"Look, Mama... I folding my prayers," you tell me.

You've been repeating what I tell you, dutifully, so I recently decided we could branch out and let you say your own prayers.

I start by asking you "how do we start" and then you open your prayer with, "Heavenly Father...."

Then I ask you what you are thankful for.

You usually sigh deeply and then say, "Thank you for my doggies and my mommies and my daddies and my doggies."  I'm not sure why we're plural, but the doggies are always there twice.  :)

Then I keep asking you what you're thankful for until you seem to have listed everything you can think of that night.

The things you list touch me and remind me of where you've been, where you are and how far we've all come in the last year.

Here are some of the things you've been thankful for in the last few weeks:

1.  "Thank you eating"

2.  "Thank you playing"

3.  "Thank you for covers" (that's what he calls blankets particularly the blanket his Grandma made him)

4.  "Thank you for my house"

and my personal favorite:

"Thank you Daddy tickles my 'pits"

Thank you for helping me remember all that we have to be grateful for.

I love you, Sweetness. 
Mama

Update on the Rent

We received word this last week that another organization has made arrangements to catch-up the backrent at Harry's current place.

This means we only need to worry about the "going forward".  We're in talks to see if we can pay the landlady monthly (because it's always easier to come up with a six hundred dollars on a regular basis than several thousand all at once).

Nothing like having this sudden stress reduced to a tenth of what it was!  A big two points for the Lord on that!

Milestones

Dear Sweetness,
You reached a new milestone in "immigrant toddler-hood" last night.


We walked in the door and the heat vent under the sink was slightly askew.  It sits in the kick plate, so it was a bit obvious that it wasn't sitting correctly.

You immediately blamed it on the dog.

You said, "Divot broke it!"

Then you picked it up and held it in your hands.  You looked at it like it was horribly destroyed.

"It's broken" you said, "Damn it!"

I asked you where you heard that word.

You said, 'Daddy."

Busted.

Well, When You Put It THAT Way....

Dear Son,
We live in the valley at the base of the beautiful Mt. Timpanogos.

I love this mountain.  I love it in all seasons.  I love watching the sunrise over it and the sunset upon it.

When I lived in Florida (which is very pretty but FLAT) I missed this mountain.

I've been trying to help you appreciate this mountain.

Sometimes when we're driving and the sun is setting, I'll point it out to you and tell you how pretty it is.

Sometimes I point out the mountain when we're clear across the valley and I make you say, "Hi, Mountain."

I want you to appreciate how beautiful this world is.

The other day, we were driving to Grandma's.  She lives in the city right at the base of the mountain.  So we were driving along and the mountain was RIGHT THERE out the window and I was saying, "Nate, isn't that a pretty mountain?  Mama loves that mountain.  She thinks it's beautiful."

From the back seat, I heard you say, "Mama...." (in hindsight, this is where you were thinking, "how do I break this to her")

"Mama, it just DIRT."

People have asked where to order the book

Team Hope: Haiti, January 2010 | Make Your Own Book

Click here and it will take you to the blurb.com page.

I added a hardcover-image wrap option as well if you want that.

I Can't Want To Be a Romanoff

My dearest Sweetness,
You have a new saying that is adorable and so appropriate.

Instead of saying that you "don't" want to do something, you say you "can't want" to do it.

Mama will say it's time to get ready for bed and you say, 'Mama, I can't want to."


Or I'll tell you we need to get you some medicine for the nasty cold you've had and you tell me that you "can't want" your medicine.


I think I'm going to start trying that one out at work - next time I get asked to create a report or something.  We'll see if it works any more successfully for me than it has for you.


Speaking of cold medicine, I think it wired you last night.  You were literally bouncing up and down as fast as you could.  I asked you what you were doing and you said, "I dancing".  Then, on all the "downbeats" of your jumping you said, "Mama. I. Don't. Wanna. Listen".


It was very cute and I have to admit that I couldn't prevent myself from laughing at you.

I am constantly amazed at how you think things through.  Since you came home you've called my parents "Grandma and Grandpa Fish" (because they have an enormous aquarium in their living room) and you call Papa's parents "Grandma and Grandpa Mint" (because our last name is hard to say when you're three).

The "grands" have LOVED it - it's been so cute and they've called themselves that as well (like on the phone or "come give Grandpa Fish a hug").

A few weeks ago I finally broke it to you that those weren't REALLY their names.  I explained what their names really were and I repeated them a few times so you'd get the association ("Grandma Fish is Grandma Olson", etc).

A few minute later I could hear you in the backseat, talking to yourself.  You were trying out the feel of those new names.  I heard you say, "Grampa O'son.... Grampa O'son" and then you said, "Mama, do THEY know that?" 

I asked you, "does WHO know that?" and you said, "Grampa Fish".

Yes, Sweetie.  He knows what his real name is.  Sorry to ruin the dream.

Speaking of names, yours can be a mouthful.  Our last name is hard to say. You'll get used to spelling it for everyone the rest of your life.  But right now, if we ask you what your name is you say "Na-tun Bent Romanoff".

That'll do, Son.   That'll do.

I love you,
Mama

Snips and Strings and Little Things

There has been so much of the past year that I haven't blogged about.  It seems like life is a whirlwind and it's all I can do to keep up with work and church and my health raging through it all.

So, if you'll indulge me, I'm going to catch you up on a few gems.

When Nathan came home from Haiti, he didn't know HOW to play.  We had toys for him.  They were pretty meaningless to him.  At that point he didn't know what the animals were so he had no concept of what a stuffed elephant or giraffe were supposed to be.

Nate did two things when he came home with toys:
1.  He liked to take a toy (like the infamous El Camino) and HOLD IT in his hand.  That's mostly what he did.  Hold on to it.  He'd take it to bed.  Take it to the table to eat.  Take it outside, upstairs, wherever he was going.  Just hold it.

He still does this.  He pretty much always has a train or a car in his hand.  I think that's pretty reflective of the orphanage lifestyle - if somehow you get something, hold on tightly because you never know when someone else bigger than you will take it away.

2.  The one activity that he did do (right from the moment he was home) with his cars was put things in them.  It's kind of hard to explain, but if he finds any tiny scrap of something - a bit of string, a rip of paper, some lint off the carpet - he will pick it up and very carefully shove it into whichever car he's holding.  That would entertain him for hours.  He could sit on the carpet and pick up little threads and just push them in through the windows of whatever he was holding.

When he was first home and before he could really verbalize what he wanted, he'd come to me with a fully stuffed car just bawling.  I eventually figured out he wanted me put help him get everything back OUT of the car so he could push it INTO the car again.  Pretty soon he'd bring me the car full of strings and things and say, "Hep, peez" and hand it to me to "de-stuff".  I'm pretty good at it now (a straightened paperclip is very useful).

I have thought about this behavior and I've thought about what I know of where he lived.  Nate was always sick in Haiti.  He didn't really run around much.  If you can't fight for what you want, you won't get it in an orphanage.

I know how much concrete there was there and how few toys, how little space for those children.  In my mind's eye I can see Nate sitting by a crack in the concrete and pushing little bits of dirt into it over and over again to entertain himself.

Here's a closeup of one of his stuffed trucks:

Right after Nate's arrival, my dear cousin, K, sent him two large cars with a note that said, "Because every American boy eventually has to decide - Mustang, or Camaro?"  The doors opened on these cars and they were  the perfect size for little boy hands to push around.  He has LOVED those cars, K.  There was a period of time where he figured out he could pull the tires off of them.  He picked one at random, named it "Tire" and he carried it with him everywhere.  For weeks Tire went EVERYWHERE - he even took "Tire" to bed.  Numerous times we'd be most of the way out the door and he'd realize he didn't have Tire and I'd have to go back and find Tire so he could clutch it in his hand.  I finally had to put an end to it after the eightyjillionth time of searching for "tire" all over the dark carpet in the back of my car, where he'd dropped it from his carseat and was now sobbing for "Tire!"

Here is one of the cars from K with some string, a carrot and a bit of plastic inside:

I spent many evenings laying on my stomach next to him and showing him how the cars rolled back and forth if you held them just so and making car noises for him.  At first he LOOKED at me like I was insane, but he quickly caught on.

Now he likes to go through all his cars and trains and say, "Mama, what color dis?  What color dat?"  or "What his name?" (mostly used for his Thomas trains).  That will entertain him until Mama is so bored she wants to poke her eyes out.  

But the best moments are when I can hear him making his cars or trains talk to each other and he's making whistle sounds and engine sounds and just being an American boy.

That, my friends, is a beautiful thing.

Book, part deux

Of course, as soon as I got the book in the mail and flipped through it, I could see a few places where the headers weren't lined up how they should have been.

I am uploaded a new copy to blurb.com so if you haven't ordered one yet and you're going to, then please use the 2nd version.

I've also edited the Paypal button to include a "use it where you need it most" option.  A couple people have asked about that.

We seem to have flatlined at 83 Twitter followers.  Not sure what we need to do to get traction and really get some numbers (aside from having someone who can full-time Tweet... honestly, who has the time for that??)

It Takes a Sweet Boy to Call His 6'4" Papa This

Nate says this quite often in reference to Daddy.



I just adore the way he says "funny liddle guy".

It's Your Birthday!.... What Do You Mean It's Not Your Birthday

Nathan's a little confused about the whole "holiday" and "celebrations" thing.  Since it was Daddy's birthday 2 weeks ago, he's been singing a little song he made up for the dogs, "It's your birthday, Pohla!"  

So we made his first Valentines this week.  I thought it would be cute to try to get him to focus for a half a second and tell me something about the kids in his day care.  

So, Nate did the front of the cards, and Mama did the investigative reporting on the back.  

For those of you who can't quite make it out, the back of Collin's card says, 'He my friend", "He my buddy", "I gonna give him money?" (This one he phrased as a question, trying to figure out again what the point of these "bal-en-times" is), "It's your birthday, Collin" (he wanted to tell that to all the kids, so what are you going to do besides run with it?), "I love him", and "He my big buddy".

And while we're at it, here are the dogs.  Their names are Divot 

and Bobby Jones,

 but Nathan's nicknamed them "Pohla" and "Poklee" respectively.

And here is his best whirling dervish while he sings a little ditty he made up himself titled, 

"It's you birfday for Poklee"

I Come Back for You

Son,

Some friends of ours gave us this Fisher-Price car for you.  Somehow they'd ordered two and didn't want to deal with a return.

I'm not sure exactly how that happens, but hey - free car!

Because it's like negative eleventy outside, we have it in the house. In the evenings after dinner you like to get it out and drive it around and around the couch/kitchen island loop.  It's like the Toddler Autobahn.  Dogs beware.  Nate's got his "Flintstone feet" and he's a-going!

I'll say, "Bye, Nate!  Come back soon!" and you'll say, "Bye, Mama!  I see you later!" and then you're off.  Sometimes you say, "I go work.  See you later.  I get you a Jessie's" (that's his daycare lady).

This last week you added to our little game.

Now when you come back around the loop you say, "Mama, I come back for you!" and then you swing open the door to your car and you run as fast as you can to give me a hug.

Oh, Sweetness.  I know exactly how you feel.

Mamas always, always come back for you.

We're flamily.

I love you,
Mama

How Does $5 Per Month Sound?

We have a "monthly support' option now for helping Haiti.

The button here looks "meh" but the version of it on "belhaiti.org" made me do the happy dance.

Can you do $5.00 per month for Harry?  For Bel?

What about $20?

$20.00 is like a bajillionty times more money than Harry could do on his own every month.

Will you help?

My Kingdom for the Rent...

I'm having a "sigh" day.  I chatted with Harry last night.

He started his conversation with me by saying, "I am very worried for some things".  That's Harry saying, "You've got to help me.  I can't sleep because of some of these things I have no control over.  Remember how there's no way for me to get work here?  Remember how I'm trying to care for so many other people that I can't take care of my own family sometimes?"

I asked him what was wrong and he said, "I need to get the rent to the owner".

In Haiti they pay rent for buildings a year at a time.  That means it's easy for me to forget that he has to do that.  It also  means he's been worried about this for weeks and just now wanted to remind me that he still owes that.

I asked him what the rent was.  I honestly don't know.

See last year at the first of the year, my son was still in an orphanage in Haiti.  Last year, Bel Haiti paid the rent at THAT facility.

Then the earth shook and walls fell and all hell broke loose.

My son came home.

We had to split off from the orphanage he was in for a lot of reasons that aren't open for public nosiness.

We reorganized ourselves as Bel Haiti and Harry became our employee.

Harry lives in a building that should technically be paid for by another organization, another orphanage.  He lives in a building that was one of three locations of another orphanage.  Harry (and his wife and two kids) live in that facility and run the location for that orphanage's director in exchange for a roof over his head.

He, his wife and two children live in one room of that building.  That's it.  Their "home" is one room.

Oh, and his family gets to eat when the orphanage kids eat.

Have I mentioned Haiti's a rough place to live?

This year, things aren't good in Haiti.  The orphanage director can't pay the rent on Harry's location.  Since all that orphanage's locations were severely damaged by the earthquake, they are STRUGGLING for every penny this year.

Where does that leave Harry?  What is he to do?

He said, 'The rent is $7000, but this building very bad and need much repairs.  All the board part [he means "everything made of wood"] been distroyed the woof and the kitchen. also the gates.  It all need paint.  Very dirty."

I said, "in America the building owner pays the repairs."

Yeah... not how it works in Haiti.

I said, "Harry, please help me remember.  Do you feel $7000 is a fair price for that building?"

See it's hard for me to translate things into "Haiti".  I live in America and have a garage for my cars and electricity all the time.  I have sewage and running CLEAN water piped right into my house.

What do I know about the going yearly rate for a broken down building in Haiti?

Harry's optimism never ceases to amaze me.

He said, "Yes.  $7000 very good price.  I would like to have better place but i love this place because it is safe and the weather is cool and it easier to take tap-tap when the car is broken."

In Haiti, the cars are always broken.  It's always hard for Harry to get things.  He has to find a water truck to come and fill the cistern so that he and the children will have water.  That costs him $75 every other week.  He has to find gasoline so that they can have the generator run in the evenings for a short while.  At $4 per gallon, that's not cheap.

But here he is, 6 weeks into the new year, and the landlord wants his money.

How do I tell a man who is living somewhere that should probably be condemned by US standards but  by Haitian standards is someplace to "really love" that I don't have the $7000 he needs to cross this worry off his list?

Sometimes I get so focused on raising the other $33K we need for our part of the wall that I forget that Harry still has day-to-day in Haiti to pay for and no funds to do it.

He's always so grateful for every penny we send him.  I know he really feels sad when he has to ask for more money because the rent is due or he can't feed the kids if he doesn't get money soon.  It's usually smaller increments and we can usually send it to him, but we don't have this chunk of money for the rent.

What do I tell him?

I tell him "I'll get it.  We'll find it Harry.  We can't have you homeless."

And I cry as I type it from my warm house with the running water because my son "came home".

Harry IS HOME.  That's his world.  He lives there.  That's what he knows.

Countdown to Homecoming's First Product Recommendation

So, no we're not being paid for this.

A friend at work told me her dermatologist recommended this stuff:

http://www.cerave.com/cream.htm

It's a moisturizing cream with time release something-or-other in it so it keeps "moisturizing" all day.

(yes, I think "time release something-or-other" is the technical term.  But thank you for asking.)

You can get it at the Walmarts or the Target.  It's pricier, but still not in the "you want me to pay WHAAT??" range.

And here's the best part -

It.
Works.
Better.

I've noticed that the next time I go to "lube" N up (twice per day - I do live in a desert, after all) his skin is not so parched that I think I'm going to chafe him to pieces.

So far, Mama thinks this is muy bueno.

Me likey.

And that's all I have to say about that.

What Happened to My Little Boy

Dear Sweetness,
For the last several weeks every time I would ask you to stop doing something you would look at me and ask in the most innocent, sweet tone:

"Joo not want me get hurt?"

It seemed that was the only reason you could imagine for me to ask you to stop something.

Even if that something was feeding your food to the dogs.

This last week, something flipped.

I think the terrible threes caught up with you.

Or you learned something on the mean streets of daycare.

Now, when I ask you to not do something you immediately grab something and try to throw it.  Usually at my head.

What happened to "Joo not want me get hurt?"  Can we go back to that?  I not want ME to get hurt either.  And really, how much of your life needs to be spent in timeout??

I love you, but I'm not so thrilled with the train chucking phase we've entered.

Let me know when we can move on to something else.

Love,
Mama

It Was Only a Matter of Time

It's like a rite of passage to write on your face, right?

I'm just glad it was a highlighter.

Can you believe this cheesy mug??

Sweetness, you will never know how much I adore you.  Thank you for letting me be your Mama.

We Have 70 Twitter Followers

mostly due to the awesomeness that is Loralee

And I've decided that I am apparently absolutely no competition,  When it comes to either watching the Super Bowl or reading my fabulous musings, the general population chooses the Super Bowl.  Thank you for putting me in my place.

Damn those commercials!

But hey, I don't have lousy half-time shows.  At least there's that.

So we're trying again today.

Do you Twitter?  Do you know someone who does?  Help us get the word out about BelHaitiOrg on Twitter.

Please follow us.  We don't just want followers - we want STALKERS.

Won't you be our stalker?

We Are Flamily

Dear Sweetness,
It's been a year that you've been home now.  I think you're still getting used to the idea of having a family.

I had to run an errand the other night and I was gone for a few hours.  When I walked in the door you yelled, "MAMA!  You came back for me!"

It was adorable and yet it hurt my heart.

Since then, we've been talking about how Mamas "always always always" come back for you.

You still don't trust that.

I guess we didn't really "help" that issue, what with our six trips to visit you and your sister while you were in the orphanage.

I don't think you remember those visits, but I think you might remember the stress of being left.

Again.

Then yesterday you looked at me and said, "You love me because we're flam-ily."

That's right, Sweetness.  We are "flamily".

And flamilies take care of each other.  They love each other.  They eat together.  They play together.  They pray together.

They come back for you.

I will always, always come back for you.

I love you,
Mama

Show Me What You've Got

Dear Readers,
Do you Twitter?  Do you know someone who does?

We're just launching into using Social Media for Bel Haiti.

About a year ago, you helped us raise $10,000 in ONE DAY for Jet Fuel to get these sweet babies home.  It worked.  They're home.  We fueled that plane.

Do you think we could get 100 followers for belhaitiorg on Twitter before the night is out?

Will you help me see if we can?

Thank you,
Nate's Mama

Team Hope FAQs:

• Can I order a copy? 

 If you really want to, yes, yes you may.  Just go to Blurb.com and search for "Team Hope: Haiti".

• What exactly is it? 

 It's a collection of news articles and emails that summarize the whole ordeal. I selected the option on blurb.com so you can preview the whole thing so that you can get an idea of what it is.  The articles were pulled off the "internets" during and right after the earthquake but most are no longer online.  I THINK that means I could technically advertise it as "Rarely Seen Before Footage", but we'll skip that part.

• Why is the picture of my kid so grainy?

Some of these pictures were taken by Team Hope members using their camera phones, then texted to me at the time.  I blame it on "low pixel quality", but let's pretend that the "internets" had to crumple the picture up to get it to fit through the tiny little "internets tubes" and when I smoothed it out on this end, that's what I got.

• Why didn't do you this as a fundraiser for Bel Haiti?

Because the Blurb.com price was already $47.95.  That's a heap o' money, particularly if you're trying to purchase one for more than one kid.  I just couldn't stomach tacking on a few more dollars when the audience that would actually be interested in this book is already pretty limited.  If I was going to get Oprah to put it on her "Favorite Things List" and we were going to sell a gajillion, then it would have been worth a few extra bucks per copy.  I tried to keep it short - it used to be 245 pages, so you're getting the "bargain" version.

• This is made up, right?

Nope.  No it's not.  We really had to go through all this craziness to get our babies home.  So worth it!

Team Hope: Haiti, January 2010 | Make Your Own Book

A Year and a Week Later....

... and I finally have the book done.

196 pages, 340+ pictures.

It's also kind of difficult when you don't have the originals of ANYTHING - you had to pull it all from the web or someone's camera phone.

Despite putting out several calls for pictures and articles, there were really only a few families who contributed. 

I've also decided that the Blurb software was quality checked by blind monkeys.  It's pure evil and maddening.  I don't think I'd use that option again (for what that's worth).

I've stressed about this way more than is healthy.  I worry about whether I've "done it right" and I have to keep reminding myself that it is what it is and you can't please everyone.

It has some great pictures of the kids.  It has the background story of how it all came together.  It shows how crazy the whole process was.  It was fun to remember the whole insane process and realize how much you forget when the situation is over.

As I type this, my son is scaling the furniture while making train noises and saying, "Pushing cars!  Pushing cars!"  And they're home.

That's really the most important thing, right?

[I didn't do a dust cover - so order a soft copy only (if you happen to be one of the families that is interested.)]

How Far We've Come

(this should have been posted on the 29th - posting now)

Sweetness,

One year ago today, Mama woke up and realized that she should never doubt Heavenly Father.

photo Mike Terry, Deseret News

One year ago today, Mama's blog had a record 30,000 hits in one day as so many people everywhere were watching and worried about whether they would let you board that plane.

photo Mike Terry, Deseret News

One year ago today, you arrived on American soil with your Papa.

photo Mike Terry, Deseret News

You have been such a joy and "happy thought" for me.  I look forward to every night, when I arrive to get you and you squeal "MAMA!!!" and do a little dance.

I look forward to playing and singing and just BEING with you every day.

You've grown, son.  6 inches in the last year.

You are happy and learning and make me laugh every day.

You are a sweet, tender-hearted boy and I'm so thrilled I get to be there while you grow up.

I love you,
Mama

Our Political Best

I'm starting to worry about the intelligence of our leaders.

We're in the process of submitting green card paperwork for Nathan.  We have to get all that done so that we can get a SSN so that we can claim him on our taxes so that we can apply for the adoption tax credit before they kill it off entirely.  (I smell a request for a tax extension coming on)

First, there's the form.  I think they called it an "I-693".  When you print it, the form is 6 pages and the instructions on how to fill out the form are another 20 printed pages.

When the last page of the instructions came out of the printer, my eyes fell to the bottom section that explained how this form fell under the jurisdiction of the "Paperwork Reduction Act".  I guess I'm lucky that I got the "short" 26-page version of the form.

Then there's the section of questions that you have to answer.  Granted, the form expects that you're not three-years old.  I get that.  I do.

I just happen to think it is completely ridiculous that they make you answer questions like "do you plan on committing espionage while in the United States".  Seriously, how many spies answer that 'yes'.  Let me rephrase that... how many "successful spies" answer that "yes"?  I thought it was pretty much a given that if you were willing to SPY on someone else that HONESTY isn't high on your list of personality strengths.

They wanted to know if Nate was sympathetic to the Nazi Government of Germany between the years 1933 and 1945 .  Yes, the question lists those years.  Do we really still get a lot of green card submissions for former Nazi sympathizers?   Let's say, hypothetically, that a person is 20 before they really figure out their personal governmental leanings.  That would mean the youngest of that group is celebrating their 86th birthday this year.  I'd imagine that those that happen to still be surviving don't travel much, what with the bad hips and such that come from being EIGHTY-SIX.

And then at the end of the form, they have a section for the submitter to sign.  I wanted to add a post-it that says "applicant is THREE and cannot write his name", but I didn't.

At least they found a way to make things work within the laws so we can finish this process for him!

Isn't It Ironic?

Dear Nathan,
This weekend Mama was making your breakfast.  You were sitting on the stool on the other side of the counter from me.

Mama turned around to grab the butter out of the fridge.  I estimate it took me approximately 3 seconds.

While my back was turned, I heard you say, "That's dangerous!" in this silly voice that you use when you're repeating something that you heard somewhere that you thought was funny.  I know that you normally have no idea what you're saying - you're just repeating what you heard.  Usually I can ask you what you mean and you tell me where you heard it.

"What's dangerous, Sweetness?" I said as I turned back around.

And then I gasped.

In that 3 seconds, you had climbed on the counter, grabbed a metal butter knife and were jabbing it, "shower-scene-from-the-movie-Psycho" style into the slot on top of the toaster.

Yes, it was plugged in.

And yes, you were saying "That's dangerous" while STABBING a piece of metal into an electrical device.

My gasp startled you and you dropped the knife.

Then we had a little chat about what "dangerous" means and how it's ALWAYS a bad idea to stick knives into other things.

We'll wait until you're older for the "metal conducts electricity" discussion.

I love you,
Mama

You Know What They Say: You Can Take the Girl Out of the Inoperable Tumor, But....

I saw a headline today that said something like, "With Baby Doc Back in Haiti, Aristde Calls 'Next'".

What is it about our beloved Haiti that makes evil dictators swarm like sharks detecting blood in the water?

I'm positive that Duvalier has realized that there is a lot of money going to Haiti right now and that one only need be in charge to get it rerouted to your own Swiss bank account.

Why don't some people catch on to the things you should learn as a child like 1) don't bite people, 2) take care of everyone smaller than you, 3) it's nice to be important but it's more important to be nice.

Make a Box

Dear Nathan,
We've been working on potty training lately.

You were potty trained in Haiti.  When you were there and Papa got there to bring you and your friends to America you would tell him when you needed the toilet.  Papa said sometimes he was pretty sure you just used the toilet as an excuse to get away from the other 200 children that were crammed into Foyer post-earthquake.

Then we came to America and started all sorts of meds for parasites and you weren't sure you wanted to talk much so we didn't push it and we went to diapers.

I actually typed "went back to diapers" until I remembered that you'd have just been bare-butt naked in Haiti.  No disposables there.

We won't talk about how the kids at your O just "went" wherever and twice a day they'd spray down the concrete.  You ate, played, pooped and napped on that concrete.  There were also a couple of buckets (literally) in the tiny alley behind the building.  I don't even want to know how often those were "cleaned".

And they wondered why you were always sick.

Anyway back to the here and now - Mama made you a chart and every time you tell us when you need to go potty you get to mark off a box.  At the end of the line of boxes, you get a Thomas the Tank Engine toy from "the Walmarts".

Cheap bribery.

Before Mama introduced "The Chart", you'd actually sometimes tell me you needed to "go potty".  Since "The Chart" you seem to be humoring me.  You now tell me that you need to "make a box for Percy".

Yup, that's what you call it.  "Make a box".  Call a spade a spade, right?  It's like you're saying, "OK, woman.  I'll play your little game if I must."

We've propped the couple of trains that you're working toward up on the wall above the shower.  You can see them in their packages and sometimes I've found you standing in the bathroom, looking up at them longingly.  I'll ask you what you're doing and you'll turn to me with determination and say that you need to "make a box for Percy".

And I love that now you clap for EVERYONE that goes potty.  You're so proud of ME and you've even asked me if I, too, am "making a box for Percy".

Sadly, no.  Mama isn't "making a box for Percy".  By the time you hit 37, people expect you to do things without rewards.  But we'll hold off on that lesson for a few dozen years.

You're just awesome, Little Man.  I can't get enough of you.

I love you,
Mama

Stopped Short

Dear Miss Jess,
Yesterday I was driving home from work and thinking about what had happened in Haiti a short year ago.  I was remembering the images that came over the news and the fear that came as we realized how thorough and complete the devastation was.

I was thinking about all the prayers and hoping and pleading and miracles that occurred to get your brother and the other children home.  I was thinking about the ache when we realized that you wouldn't be coming home.

A car pulled in front of me just then.  In the back window was a bumper sticker across the back window that said "Pray4Jessica".

And my heart broke all over again.

"I do," I thought.  I pray for you every day.

I'm not alone.

After I posted about you a few weeks ago, I had a lot of people send me very special messages that reminded me again what a powerful, beautiful, wonderful soul you are.  You have touched and changed lives and you continue to do so.

I thought I'd share some of them with you.  I know you'll never see this.  But it makes me feel better to pretend that you do.

M says:
"I thought maybe it was time to share with you that N prays for Jessica every single night.  Even if I forget in the turmoil of getting the girls to go to bed, she does not, and she always asks me to pray for her.   Since the news showed the cholera epidemic, she has added a special rider concerning that to her prayer.   She does NOT want Jessica to have cholera.   It both fills me with joy and breaks my heart at the same time that she has such faith and remembers Jess so fondly."

T&T say:
" I feel extreme 'survivor guilt' in reference to Jessica. It's like a part of me feels guilty for being happy because so much of me is sad that she's not with you and if I let the sunshine fill my whole body then I will in some way be betraying her....I can tell you in all honesty that I, personally, pray for Jessica each day. I pray for the Lord's will to be done. I pray that He will heal that empty part of your heart. And as we get ready to mark the anniversary of the earthquake I pray that He will relieve the suffering of his people by strengthening our hands and our backs -- by touching the hearts of those that have the means & minds to truly make things happen. I know He can. I know it."

K says:
"Nathan and Jessica have put a face to Haiti and helped me realize life’s struggles and many blessings... I pray that this is the year that real change happens! Not just in Haiti, but for all struggling countries, states, cities, families, and people. I pray that life’s blessing outshine its struggles. I pray that the joy Nathan feels every morning when he wakes up next to his Mama, is joy that hundreds more Haitian babies will feel this year."

R&R said:
"Jessica is missed by all who met her"

M says:
"Jess weighs heavy on my heart, the people of Haiti weigh heavy on my heart and we do not do enough. We pray for little Jess and Haiti daily, we pray that Harry will have the strength to face everyday with courage."

Aunt TiTi says that Collin prays for you every night as well.

I find myself wondering what the future will hold for both of us, Miss Jess.

I think of you so often and I'm so glad I had you in my life.  I will always wonder why we lost you and Malot and Lexi.  Why only Nathan was allowed to come home.

I love you, Miss Jess.  I always will.
Lori

In a Moment

Dear Nathan,
A year ago today, you woke up in your orphanage, like you had done for as long as you could remember.

A year ago today, you waited for food.  I wonder if you had rice twice that day or if it was just once.  You didn't always get more than a bowl of rice and beans.

I wonder if that was a day where you got two bowls full.

That day you would have been sitting in that tiny carport with the dozens and dozens of other children there.  There was so little to do - not many toys, no place to run, no place to play.  I've often wondered if all the days blended together.  When it's always warm and you only have one season (to speak of) I imagine that sometimes life seems like one big day.

And yet that day was not just another day.

At 4:53 PM the earth moved and the buildings fell and the people started screaming.  In a moment, your orphanage collapsed.  We heard later that the aunties who were in the building just start throwing the children in the building out through the door.  Somehow they knew it was coming down and that inside was the least safe place to be at that moment.  God bless them, because all of the children in your orphanage survived the building collapse.

I wonder so often how terrified you were, Little Man.

We were told that the aunties just took the children they could grab and ran for safety.  I don't know where you went or what condition you were in while you were away.  I've often wondered if you were fed in the ensuing days.

Because it was days until you were where you should be again.  It was actually 10 days later that you were brought to be with the rest of the children from your orphanage.  By that time, your Papa was there and was able to smother you with love and make sure you were fed.  And in a moment you were part of a family again and would never, ever leave them again.

Some of the older children from your orphanage have finally started to talk about what they've endured and the heartache that caused them to be orphaned in the first place.  We'll never know what you went through and in some ways it might be easier for you because of that.

For the rest of us, we can't forget Haiti.  We mustn't forget her and her people and the mess that they're still in every day of their lives.

Haiti doesn't get someone to swoop her up in their arms and smother her with love and make sure her people eat.

We mustn't forget.

I love you.
Mama

Photo of the Year?

Dear Nate,
The local paper printed their "photos of the year" for 2010 today.

http://www.heraldextra.com/app/2010photos/?photo=17

Just so you know, the one of you making out with the dog made their list.

I can't wait to blackmail you with that some day.

I love you,
Mama

Dear Nate,

Mama likes to ask you random questions to see what you'll see.  Sometimes I ask you if you like asparagus, even though I know you have no idea what that means.  Or I'll ask you if you have a purple nose or if you like the Seahawks better than the Steelers.

I also like to ask you if your name is something strange.  I'll ask you if your name is Hephzibah McGillicudy, for example.  Or Dwayne Smarkinsky.  Or Eugene Parsnip.  Whatever strange-sounding names or words come into my head.  Just to see what you'll do.

You're used to it.  You know your Mama is silly.

The other night we heard the garage door open, signalling that Daddy was home.

I asked you who was home and you said, "Daddy".   I said, "Nathan's daddy or Divot's daddy?"  (Divot's our dog).

You said, "Divot's daddy" (and I could tell by the look in your eye that you were on to me - you knew that I was being silly).

Then I said, 'What's Divot's daddy's name?"

You did this funny thing with your eyebrows (that seemed to say, "Wait for it...") and then you proudly pronounced, "Felix!" and then you started laughing your head off because you knew you'd just played my own game back at me, and that you'd done it well.

I have no idea where "Felix" came from, but it is a pretty strange sounding name.  Good job, son!

We laughed and laughed at how silly you were.  You were so proud of yourself that you spent the rest of your night running around the house yelling, "Felix!  Felix!" and laughing proudly.

I'm so happy to see your sense of humor beginning to develop, Little Man.  Nothing in Haiti is funny.  It's hard to be wacky when you're starving to death.

So here, in this safe place, you're blossoming.  You're stretching your mind and you're discovering imagination and you're learning that the world has words like "pretend" and "playing" and "silly" and "more, please".

You're even branching out into wacky.

And I love every minute of it.

I love you, Felix.
Mama

Nathan's First Christmas

Dear Sweetness,
It was so fun to see you enjoy your first Christmas.

On Christmas Eve morning, I was snuggling with you on the floor in front of the tree and I said, "Today is Christmas Eve.  What does that mean?" and you said, "1 more sleeps 'til Santa comes with toys for Nathan".

Christmas Eve afternoon, Aunt Titi and Collin came by.  You got out some of your favorite toys and shared with Collin (although it did require some coaxing to get you to "take turns" with Collin).  Mama told you that you were a good boy to share.

You've been a bit sick and so you're out of sorts if Mama doesn't stay right on top of your Tylenol.  Around bedtime, you were completely beside yourself - kicking and biting and yelling, "I not go bed".

In an exasperated, not so good Mommy moment I resorted to threats and said, "Well, if you're not asleep then Santa can't come.  Maybe he'll have to take your toys somewhere else."

Your eyes got hugely wide and you said, "But Mama... I take-a-turns wit Tollin!"

Good point... that must count for SOMETHING.

First thing the next morning, before your eyes were fully awake you said to me, "Mama, I take-a-turns wit Tollin, huh?"  You wanted to be sure that was going to outweigh the complete hissy-fit you'd had.  You sweet, sweet little boy.

Sure enough, there were presents under the tree.  We took our time and let you enjoy.  (You're not smiling in the pictures but trust me, you had a blast!)

You would have been happy with one present.  You were pretty overwhelmed with more than one present.  But Mama and Daddy have some missed Christmases to make up for, so you got more than one present.

I love you, Sweetness.

Thank you for making all merry and bright.
Mama

Team Hope Book Update

Hi, kids,
For those of you that care, I'm working on the Team Hope book.

The pricing with blurb.com is such that I'm editing right now to try to cut it back to a reasonable amount.  I ended up with 200 pages and that's nearly $50 per book!  I've looked around at other options and there don't seem to be a lot of choices for "self-published" books with full color photos.

With blurb.com if you want a copy you can order one.  I don't have to take orders and deal with all that jazz. And if you want hard cover you can do that and pay more - they take care of that.

I'm trying to get it down to under 160 pages (which is $39.95 for a soft cover 8 X 10).  Still a lot, but this is literally a once in a lifetime event.  (and all the money goes to blurb.com.  This isn't a fundraiser, if you were wondering)

I've taken articles and images from the Team Hope blog and added some pictures from Chareyl.  I'm trying to keep enough in there to capture what we were going through back home - not knowing what was happening with our children - and still tell the story of our friends like Harry and Guesno.  Hopefully it will be something you'll treasure.

Hope to have it ready to order soon.
Lori