It's Better To Have Loved And Lost...

     I've avoided this post for a long time, but I don't think I can do it anymore. To do so is almost an insult to happy memories and treasured blessings. Christeal deserves better than that.
     Last Thursday I was babysitting for Julie. It's been about three weeks since she's been to my house. She came inside and let out a little gasp when she saw my family room. "Oh!" She pointed to the wall where a purple toy chest used to be. "It looks so empty now without Christeal's things. How sad!"
     I thought I was doing okay with this loss. But Julie's acknowledgment of it brought it right to the surface. I immediately started to cry. And couldn't stop. I sobbed the whole time she was gone. I sobbed as I did my dishes and made her children lunch. Jessi was playing on the kitchen floor and out of the blue she looked up and asked me, "Is Christeal taking a nap?" I had to explain to her that Christeal wasn't here anymore and that made me cry harder.
     I miss that little girl. I miss her smiles and her hugs. I miss her saucy attitude and temper tantrums. I miss her asking to watch Nemo and Toy Story eight times a day. I miss seeing her chubby soft body in the tub and snuggling her on my lap in a fluffy warm towel, my lips pressed to her wet hair. I miss reading to her about how hands are not for hitting and watching her rock her baby dolls and wrap them in blankets. I miss listening to her prayers...
     "Bless Joowie, bless Skyboo, bless Colby, bless Joey, bless Abby, bless Joowie, bless Skyboo, bless Joowie, bless Nemo, bless Nemo, and Nemo..."
     I miss Beka bringing her to me first thing in the morning, little face swollen from sleep, clutching her blankie and Jessie doll, naked because she always undressed herself during the night. I miss her kisses and her funny faces, I miss getting after her for washing her hands in the toilet and for coloring all over my walls.
     But I'm not the only one who misses her. Each of my kids has shed quiet tears during the night and needed reassurance during the day. Her presence is felt everywhere. Sunday morning Scott and Ian were looking at videos that Ian made on Scott's computer with the web cam. I was folding laundry when I heard her little voice. At some time Ian made a video of Christeal and he and Scott smiled and laughed as they watched her. I had to go in the bathroom and cry.
     A week after she left Ian was doing chores, washing walls to earn some extra money. I noticed he was scrubbing some marker left by his little sister. He said, "Mom, I really miss Christeal."
     I decided to make a phone call. I called Christeal's mom and asked her if we could have a visit. Arrangements were made for Christeal to spend the night with us. I went to their new apartment to pick her up. When the door opened Christeal was standing there. Her eyes got so big and sparkly. She threw her arms around my legs and cried, "MOMMY!" She took me by the hand and said, "Come see my room." She then proceeded to take me on a tour of her new home. She was so proud of having her own room with a toddler bed and a closet full of toys. During the tour she would spontaneously stop and lift up her arms to me. I'd pick her up and she would snuggle into my neck and pat my back and say, "Mommy."
     I knew she missed me, but it was also clear that she was happy in her new home with her real mom and dad. We have a good and open relationship with Christeal's parents. They are very good about keeping in contact and Christeal's mom even asked me if I would be willing to be a daycare provider for Christeal. I know that my family's role in her life is not over. I don't know what is in store. I just know that right now, things are different. She no longer lives in our home. She just visits once in a while. And her absence is a big hole, physically and spiritually. But not for one second do I regret being her foster mom. It was the right thing to do and my family received tremendous blessings because of it, the biggest blessing being Christeal herself. I knew going into the relationship that there was a good chance this little girl would not stay forever. And I was okay with that. My family was okay with that. And even though it hurts, we are still okay with that. She was with us during a critical time in her life. A time when her parents needed help and she needed a safe place to stay while they received that help. And almost one year later, she's been able to return to her family. A family that worked hard and did everything that was required of them. In Christeal's case, it wasn't just a child that was saved. It was a whole family. So even though I cry and hurt, I know I've done exactly as my Heavenly Father wanted me to do. Because not only is Christeal His child, so are her parents, and He loves them the same. 
     A few days ago I got an email from my resource family coordinator (foster care boss) asking me if I was ready for another placement. I had to tell her not yet, but maybe in the future... a little boy?

    

The Howling

     During the month of October Ian's second grade class has been learning about moon cycles. Every night Ian goes outside and checks on the moon. Is it a new moon? Quarter moon? Gibbous or full? Moon studies seem to prompt other studies as well. We've had many wolf discussions this month, and I think it's safe to say that Ian is a bit obsessed.
     Last Thursday my niece got married and had a wedding reception in Memory Grove. It was a beautiful fall night, with clear skies and moderate temperatures. Doors in the reception hall were opened to the outside, and my rowdy son, along with his rowdy cousins, took advantage of the large patio beyond the doors. They ran in and out of the building, chasing each other, using giant pixie sticks from the candy bar as swords. Fueled by sugar and excitement, their imaginations carried them to far off places, where giant beasts stalked forests and humans weren't so... human.
     I was checking out the buffet table the first time I heard it. It started low and soft, rising in pitch, an untamed crescendo of beauty and loneliness, carried away on the breezes of the night. My hand paused over a brownie... I knew the sound, or rather, I knew what made the sound. I decided to ignore it, thinking that the more attention I drew to it, the more it would happen. I moved on to the strawberries. And heard it again. This time the head's of other people turned toward the dark song of the night. I knew I needed to intervene. I set my plate on a table and headed out to the patio. I found the lone wolf leaning on the railing, staring up at the moon.
     "Ian, you can't howl here. It's too loud. You need to wait till we get home."
     "But I'm a werewolf. I have to howl at the moon."
     "This is a wedding. We do not howl at weddings."
     After an explanation of etiquette, he agreed to stop howling. But knowing my son, I knew it wouldn't last. Throughout the evening the wolf returned and lifted his nose to the moon. The perfect sound coming from his throat echoed off the canyon outside and reverberated around the reception hall. I continued to remind him that this was not the time or the place. He would nod his head in understanding, and we would have about five minutes of howl-free time.
     When it was time for the bride and groom to cut the cake, the wolf returned, darting around the legs of the elderly, skidding to a stop six feet from the cake-smeared happy couple. He lifted his nose, and let loose the most impressive howl of the evening. This one came straight from the diaphram and would have made an opera singer proud. I grabbed my young pup and slapped a hand over his mouth. Dragging him outside I hissed, "You can't do that! I told you to stop!"
     "But--I'm--changing."
     Convulsions racked his body as he was gripped in some sort of imagination-induced seizure. I grabbed his shoulders and looked him right in the eyes.
     "Ian, you are NOT a werewolf."
     His eyes rolled back in his head. "Yes--I--a--am."
     I threw my hands in the air and stomped back inside, motioning to Scott that it was his turn. He got up and went outside to join Ian. A few minutes later father and son walked happily back indoors. Ian went to play and Scott sat in the seat next to me.
     "What did you do?" I asked.
     "I just pointed out that it wasn't a full moon. Werewolves only change when the moon is full. We're good."
     And we were. For the rest of the night.
     As for tonight? I picked Ian up from a birthday party at seven o'clock. He climbed in the car and rolled down his window. His face drifted up to look at the moon. The full moon. He turned to look at me.
     "Hey, Mom? Can I howl?"
    

I Can't Wait Until I'm Eight

     Many of you are aware of my trepidation and uncertainty regarding Ian's baptism. I was concerned because I know that he's not accountable for a lot of what he does. I was concerned because I know he's deathly afraid to put his head under the water. I was worried that he wouldn't act appropriately and people wouldn't understand. I didn't need to worry.
     After talking with Scott and my father-in-law regarding the accountability issue, I decided to talk to my bishop also. All three of them said the same thing. They said that Ian needed the blessings of having the Holy Ghost with him all the time. My bishop also pointed out that God is the only one who can determine a person's accountability and He will do so in a completely fair manner. He said it was our responsibility to make sure that ordinances are performed so that a person can benefit from the blessings. The way he said it helped me to calm down and understand that this was a good thing for my son.
     At the last minute, I decided to go ahead and have Ian baptized on the stake baptism day, which was September 11th. The day before that was his birthday.
     His birthday was one of the best he's ever had. He woke up bright and early at 6:15, ready to open his presents. Surrounded by his groggy family, he ripped paper and tore into his bounty as only an eight-year-old can. I thought for sure he'd refuse to go to school, wanting to stay home and play with his new toys, but I was wrong. He wanted to go to school. He was excited for me to bring treats for his class so that they could celebrate with him. Thank goodness I remembered. I didn't think I'd make it to his class in time though, becasue I forgot my wallet at the store, but luckily Harmons takes checks and didn't ask for I.D.
     In the afternoon we took Ian to Chuck E Cheese with Joe. Having one friend instead of a bunch of hyper boys was perfect for him. Everyone played arcade games, including Tawni and Beka, who gave their winnings to Ian so that when all the tokens were gone, he had almost 500 tickets to turn in. He was so happy and so appreciative. He and Joe played together until evening and when it was time for bed, Ian fell asleep in my spot, snuggled next to his dad. I didn't have the heart to move him so I left him there and slept in his bed instead.
     The first words out of Ian's mouth the following morning were, "I'm getting baptized today!"
His joy and excitement were palpable. He was hyper and stimulated from the get-go. But he never misbehaved. He was good as gold and his happiness was contagious.
     We went to the church early so that we could take pictures. Somehow Ian managed to smuggle a giant pink Slinky and tiny toy monkey into the building. The Slinky made a grand entrance, bouncing off the ceilings of the hall and foyer with joyful abandon. The monkey behaved better; it knew that screeching was not allowed in church. But when the Slinky tried to bounce and fly into the chapel, it was apprehended and jailed inside Tawni's purse.
     The baptism program took place in the chapel. Three other children were being baptized the same day and they, along with their dad's, took a seat on the front row. Ian was not capable of sitting. He crawled across the bench, wiggled, squirmed, sprawled across his dad's lap and then stood up. He walked to the wall next to the podium, and grabbed the ledge with his hands. Lifting his feet off the floor, he proceeded to hang and crawl along the edge using his hands. He has amazing upper body strength because his feet never once touched the floor. I was horrified and entertained at the same time. What I couldn't understand is why Scott wasn't stopping him. And then I saw it. My mother-in-law was taking pictures, causing Ian to do it even more because he had an audience. My children were crying they were laughing so hard. I just shook my head. What did I expect?
     Once the program started the kids had to go up to the stand and receive their Book's of Mormon. As the speaker introduced them Ian pointed and hollered, "Mom! There's Julie!" He started waving frantically at his friends and me until I acknowledged his efforts. After that he decided he was bored and bent in half over the ledge, arms dangling towards the floor, while the other three kids stood reverently beside him.
     Our primary chorister, Mary Beth Sheppard, called on Ian to help her with some songs. She gave him a card to hold. When he lifted it up high, everyone needed to hum. When he put it down, we had to sing using words. Ian was very excited to be helping and climbed on the bench to stand up so that everyone could see him better. He held the sign high over his head and we all hummed. He put it down and we used words. He got that gleaming sparkle in his eyes and... hum, sing, hum, sing, hum, sing, hum, sing... in rapid succession. The smile on his face said it all. He was having the time of his life and so were we.
     When it was time for Ian to be baptized, we all journeyed to the primary room where Ian's Grandpa and Uncle Peter acted as witnesses. Scott led Ian down into the water and my boy clung to his Dad with a death grip. He was so scared to go under the water. But he did it, although I seriously doubt he'd have done it for anyone other than his dad.
     Back in the chapel, all those who turned out for this event wrote messages to Ian, notes for him to save and help him remember this day. While we were writing he came galloping back into the chapel, hair dripping and sticking up, and resumed his wiggliness on the bench.
     During his confirmation, I wish I'd kept my eyes open to watch him but I didn't. I was informed by others that he kept looking up at the many different hands on his head, and scanning the room around him. I doubt that he heard one word of the blessing, but by this point, I knew it didn't matter. Ian hearing and understanding wasn't the important thing taking place. When it was over, everyone expected hugs from my boy. Ian doesn't do hugs, not without a lot of prompting and bribery. He tried to escape but Scott is quick and let him know that people needed handshakes or hugs. He hugged his dad and his grandpa, the rest either got a high-five or a hard-pumping handshake.
     This entire baptism process didn't take more than 45 minutes. During that time, I worried a little about Ian's behavior, but after a while I knew it just didn't matter. There was a feeling that overshadowed all worries, all hyperactivity, all wiggles. The feeling was joy. Ian was filled with it, his family and friends felt it, and I know the Savior felt it. His love and happiness bore testimony to the rightness of what was taking place. As I observed my son, I knew that everything he did that day was smiled upon. No one judged or disapproved. They just loved this special child of God.

The Marking Instinct

     I'm having trouble finding humor in my everyday life. My children, other people, myself--none of us are funny. Most of the time I find the company of others downright irritating and I can't wait to retreat to my safe place; the chair in the corner of my bedroom with a permanent butt print on the cushion. Once there, I can immerse myself in novels or mindless computer games so that I don't have to do any thinking. I can block out the chatter and noise of others as well as the voices in my own head. I fill the emptiness I feel inside with cookies and lactose laced foods. In spite of my intestinal distress, I've gained five pounds.
     I must be depressed.
     But today, a small ray of sunshine broke through, and his name is Ian.
     Ian has been home from school since Wednesday. He always gets sick shortly after school starts in the fall. It began with the pukes on Tuesday night and progressed to a major head cold and cough. He's feeling better today, because he has lots of energy, but he sounds terrible and can't seem to stop wiping his nose on the furniture. He also takes about four showers a day. The hot steamy air helps to clear his sinuses and loosens the chest congestion so that he can hack up a bunch of snot. Lovely, I know.
     I had a bunch of errands to run today, aka lunch with Julie while watching Big Bang Theory. When I got home, my sister, CoCo, who was watching Ian, told me his appetite had returned and he'd had a shower. I went into my bathroom to make sure the shower was turned off all the way. Ian usually doesn't push the tap in far enough and the water drizzles for hours until it's discovered. The tap was off this time but there was a washcloth over the drain. I took my foot and scooted the wash cloth off the drain. And the sight that greeted my eyes should have blinded me forever. Instead, it made me laugh. It's so Ian.
     My drain was stuffed full of poop.
     I proceeded to question my child about his improper plumbing usage. He denied it at first.
     "It wasn't me."
     "You had a shower in my bathroom. I know it was you. Why did you do it?"
     "I don't know."
     "Where are we supposed to poop?"
     "In the toilet."
     "You are forbidden to ever shower in my bathroom. From now on, you will have baths."
     I donned my hazmat suit--rubber gloves, bandana over the face--and armed with a plastic spoon and a paper plate, I proceeded to extricate the excrement. A half-gallon of bleach and twenty gallons of water later, the drain was as clean as it would ever be.
     While I was cleaning out the drain, I wondered, why do boys do what they do? I know mothers everywhere have pee-pee and poopy stories about their sons. Just last week I was at Julies house. She had Legos on a towel next to the kitchen sink and bleach scented the air.
     "What happened?" I asked her.
     She proceeded to relate an experience involving Colby, the Lego bin, and urine.
     The first time I caught Ian peeing in the backyard I said, "We don't pee in the yard!"
     He replied, "Grandpa does."
     I've had foster boys who thought the closet was a commode, and one child never did use the toilet. He liked to stand on the edge of the tub and spray away.
     Ian and Joey both have deposited turds on the Palmer's lawn. They wanted to be dogs.
     Girls don't do these things. What is it about boys?
     I don't think human males are any different than their animal brothers. They all seem to feel an uncontrollable instinct to mark territory.
    

Leaving

     Life has been a bit on the crazy side for the past month. I had both of my sisters visit, which was amazing and I loved every moment. My niece, Emily, stayed with us for three weeks until she could move into her apartment at UVU last Friday. I finally got to take the family camping trip I've been dying to take all summer. We went to Jordanelle and had a great time with the trailer, a tent, and the boat. Zack learned to wakeboard, Scott finally got to wakeboard, and I learned how to drive the boat and pull a wakeboarder. I also got all the kids registered for three different schools, I enrolled myself in an online computer class, and started helping Tawni enroll at SLCC for winter semester.
     Today was a day I've looked forward to and dreaded all summer. Dreaded because I liked having freedom and no schedules, I liked being able to stay up late and sleep in. I looked forward to this day because my house was a disaster and I could finally catch up on the housework and claim my space again. Not to mention have a little peace and quiet. Today was the first day of school.
     I was up at six fixing a french toast breakfast, saying goodbye to Beka as she headed off to early morning seminary and her first day of high school. It was Zack's first day of junior high as well. After dropping Ian off at elementary I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried home to get on my treadmill. I accomplished so much today. Laundry, dishes, counters cleaned off, floors swept and vacuumed, phone calls made, and a celebration lunch with Julie--it's something we always do on the first day of school.
     I kept myself busy all day, convinced that I was happy and okay with everyone growing up. But tonight, it started sinking in.
     It began with Ian. His eighth birthday is coming up, and along with that, his baptism. I've long been convinced that he's only accountable for about 1/5 of the things he does, if that much. So why does he need to be baptized? I don't think he's ready and I'm not sure he ever will be. But Scott and my father-in-law both say it needs to happen. They say that Ian needs to have the blessings that come from having the Holy Ghost all the time. I can understand that. It makes sense to me. But I know it doesn't make sense to Ian. While other children are excited for this momentous occasion, Ian doesn't have a clue nor does he want one. How is he supposed to survive a boring Bishop's interview? Will he even remember who Joseph Smith is? I tried to have a family home evening tonight to help solidify these things. It was a joke. Ian wasn't serious about any of it. He was laughing and joking, Christeal was noisy and a distraction, and I finally threw up my hands in defeat and declared the lesson DONE! A few minutes later, I tried to talk to Ian one-on-one and help him to understand the importance of everything. To my horror, I started to cry. And once I started, I couldn't stop. And guess what? My little boy laughed at me.
     My tears must have unlocked a floodgate of emotions. Soon I wasn't just crying over Ian, I was crying because Zack and Beka were growing up, Tawni was growing up, and with everyone growing up that means that someday they will all leave. And the leaving thoughts turned my mind to Christeal. And then the tears really started. I've managed to keep my emotions buried pretty deep with this one. Not anymore. Tomorrow is the big day. It's the final hearing, and DCFS will petition the court for a trial home placement. Meaning, this sweet little angel who has graced our home for almost ten months, is leaving. And it's killing me.

The Mysterious Poo

     Ian came to me the other day and with a puzzled look on his face said, "Mom, there is poop on the computer chair."
     Okay. My first thought was that he stepped in dog doodoo and it got on the chair. Then I remembered that we no longer have a dog. So I followed him down the hall toward the kitchen and the contaminated chair. On the way, I spied a brown smear on his shin.
     "Ian, you have poop on your leg."
     "I do?" He started twisting around to get a better look.
     I pointed to the front of his leg and asked, "Did you go poop on the toilet?"
     "No."
     "Did you go poop in your pants?"
     "No--I don't think so."
     Let me give you a little Ian Potty History here. When my sweet boy was about four, I began the potty training process. He didn't get it. Julie and I always planned on training Ian and Joe together. Joe graduated from diapers, but Ian didn't. So Julie and I joked and said we'd potty train Ian and Jessi together. Jessi graduated, Ian did not. It wasn't so funny anymore, but I tried looking at it humorously and joked with Julie one more time about training Ian and Colby together. Colby graduated, Ian was still having problems. By this point Ian was in school and he could make it through half-a-day of kindergarton without an accident... but at home? He was peeing and pooping constantly. I wish I could say he was just lazy, but I knew that wasn't it. It came down to brain function. I learned later that lots of kids with early drug exposure have toilet issues. So, I geared myself up, bought tons of underwear for daytime, and pull ups for nighttime. I threw away an average of three pairs of underwear a week. But I wasn't going to put my school-aged child back in diapers. That would be down right humiliating for him. So I dealt with it the best I could and figured that someday, he'd outgrow the problem.
     Here we are, Ian is almost eight, and for the most part, he does pretty good. He doesn't need pull ups at night, and he only has an accident about once a week. Occasionally Ian's body will eliminate liquids or solids before he realizes what is going on. Which brings us back to the smear on the shin and the turd on the computer chair.
     I took my boy into the bathroom and had him sit on the toilet. Sure enough, he needed to do his business, and sure enough, there was evidence that he'd already done some business. Unfortunately, he neglected to put underwear on his body that morning, so the evidence was glued to his hind end and his shorts. I cleaned him up--I wanted to use an S.O.S. pad but settled on baby wipes--and got him some new undies and pants. Then we went into the kitchen.
     And there it was. The turd. Right in the middle of the chair. I stared at it for a moment, tilting my head one way and then the other, wondering, how in the world, did it fall from his butt, out the bottom of his shorts, and land on the chair? It should have landed on the floor. Unless he was standing on the chair?
     "Ian, were you standing on the chair?"
     "No. I was just sitting."
     Hmmm. If he'd been wearing underwear the turd would have been contained, but since he was going commando, the marble could just roll around at will. Maybe it stuck to him and then wiggled down a bit and landed on the chair? No, it still should have landed on the floor. Unless his leg was tucked under him, which would explain the smear on the shin. I don't know, it's a tough case and I'm not sure I'll ever solve it. Here is my best guess.
     The urge to expell signalled his brain to cut loose. One marble exited the anus and after a brief collision with the inside of his shorts, it fell... and this is where gravity failed. I'm assuming Ian was standing up in front of the chair, as he often does, and as the turd left the confines of his shorts and gravity failed, it hovered for a moment and then began to rise. It kept rising until it was floating over the chair... and that's when gravity recovered itself, dropping the brown ball onto the chair, where it was squished and smeared when Ian sat down and tucked a leg under his butt.
     That's my theory, what's yours?
   

My Unsung Hero

     Today seems an appropriate day to make mention of my parenting partner. It's a known fact that I could not raise five kids by myself. Especially five kids with so many needs. The Lord did not bless us with easy children. He blessed us with amazing and unique children, but easy? No way. I hope they won't mind as I share a little of their challenges and gifts.
     Tawni. My oldest. I lovingly refer to her as the experimental child, because as new parents, every decision, for good or bad, was made in almost total ignorance. The fact that she survived our parenting and arrived at adulthood is a miracle. I am very proud of Tawni. She has not had an easy life. She's always been a stubborn and independent soul, struggling to find her place and claim a unique identity. She craves independence but at the same time, wants to be taken care of and will complain loudly if you try to tell her what to do. At the beginning of her sophomore year in high school, Tawni suffered a major emotional breakdown and it took almost a whole year and several hospitalizations before a diagnosis of Bipolar disorder was reached. Being a teenager and having to rely on heavy medications in order to maintain a functioning lifestyle has not been easy for Tawni, or her parents. But she is an amazing young woman and I know there aren't many people that could deal with her challenges and rise above them like she has.
     Rebeka. My second daughter is an absolute joy. She is sunshine personified and when she walks into a room you can feel it brighten. She, like her older sister, is stubborn and independent. Beka has always exuded a strong sense of independence. From the time she was teeny wee. At nine months old she refused to let me feed her and had to do it all herself. Beka had some challenges early on in life. She developed a massive kidney infection when she was only seven weeks old and spent a week in the hospital. At ten months, she developed a strange serum sickness that left burn-like welts all over her body. She was on steroids because all her internal organs were swollen. To this day, we don't know what caused this illness. You wouldn't know it today, but when Beka was three years old, she still wasn't speaking. We enrolled her in an early intervention pre-school program where she received lots of special help and was diagnosed with a communication delay. She received lots of help during school from special education classes and now, as an upcoming sophomore, the only help she needs is with math. She is a very hard worker and her early experiences have given her a love of those with special needs. She is an amazing peer tutor and wants to teach special ed when she grows up.
     Zack. My first boy. For the first four years of his life, he could do no wrong. Everything was cute and sweet and I relished every moment with him. I thought he was my last baby and so I spoiled him with love and affection. Zack was not independent like his sisters. He wanted very much to be taken care of and still does. When I think of him, total sweetness is what pops into my brain. He is kind, loving, compassionate, and has an incredible memory for dates and details--just not with homework. When Zack was six years old, he started exhibiting vocal and muscular tics. My heart sank because I knew what it was. Tourette Syndrome runs rampant in my family gene pool and my precious boy was diagnosed. In addition to the challenges of Tourette's, Zack also suffers from panic attacks due to high anxiety and he also suffers from ADD. That's a lot for one twelve-year-old. He's had to endure teasing and ridicule from kids at school because of his tics and like Tawni, he takes lots of strong medications to keep the symptoms of his problems at bay. But one of Zack's greatest strengths is his love of the gospel. He seems to have been born with it and this love and knowledge help him on daily basis.
     Ian. If you don't know what his issues are, you need to go back to the beginning of my blog and read every entry. Fetal Alcohol Effects, asthma, allergies... there's a lot. But here, I'd like to focus on his strengths. He is a happy kid. Just is. It's infectious and you can't help but be taken in by his laugh and the twinkle in his eyes. He loves people and friends. He loves his family and lately, he comes into my bed in the mornings and wants to snuggle. He is independent and can do many things for himself. He knows how to make chicken nuggets and hot dogs and will often fix his own peanut butter sandwiches. He loves to wash dishes and will hurry to get his chores done for the right incentive. His is compassionate and possesses such a love for life and it's experiences that I'm often amazed he's not in trouble more than he normally is. He loves to talk and asks constant questions about how an engine works and will he be alive when Jesus comes again. He always wants to know about Heaven and where it is and the other day he asked his Dad, "Why did you choose me?"
     Christeal. She is another happy soul and our home is so much richer with her in it. I cannot imagine life without her but I still don't know what the future holds for us in regards to her. She's been with us for almost eight months. There's a hearing on the 29th of this month and we should know something then. She, like Ian, loves to come into my room in the mornings and snuggle. She'll push Ian aside and say, "My Mommy." And then the two of them will fight over me and Scott and it usually ends in tears but that's okay. I still love it. Christeal's vocabulary is huge for a two-year-old and she will often speak in six word sentences. She is very smart and has an incredible memory. She also has some attitude. I told her to do something the other day that she didn't want to do. She put her hands on her hips, stuck her chin out and said, "Fine!" But like all my other kids, she too possesses some unique challenges. She was born with a club foot and has undergone surgeries and wears a brace at night. She also is extremely OCD. It's hard for her to eat because if she gets food on her hands or person, she comes unglued. Everything has a place and must be in its place. Blankets need to be just right, things need to be done in a certain order, and I have no doubt that someday, she will need to be medicated for her disorder.
     Five amazing children. Many challenges and strengths. Like I said at the beginning, I could not raise them without my husband. God gave me a great gift when He gave me Scott. He is a good provider and has never balked at hard work or holding down three jobs at a time. He is a handyman and always keeps our home in good shape. He is the best dad on the planet and takes an active role in raising his kids. Just an example. The church always has suggestions for fathers. They suggest a father take the time to meet with his children regularly, see how they are doing, offer a blessing. Scott's philosophy is this; If you have to schedule a time to meet with your child, then you aren't doing your job. Scott is available to his children all the time. Even at work. Zack was having a panic attack one night at eleven. We called Scott and he talked to Zack until he'd calmed down and could rest. Scott always takes the time to listen when his children want to talk, which is a lot. He helps with scouts, school projects that Mom can't do, he teaches young people how to mow the lawn, drive cars, drive a boat... He does so much and remains upbeat and positive most of the time. Over the years, we've had 40+ foster/shelter children come through our door. Scott has been involved in all of it, treating each child as if he were their actual dad.
     Scott and I have been married for almost twenty years and I could not have chosen a better partner. He is my hero and I know our kids feel the same.