We Know

We know that we move a lot (13 times in 13 years of marriage, exactly).

We know that you think this is disruptive for our kids ... that they cannot possibly be happy or well-adjusted.

We know that you think we are impulsive and flighty.

We know that you think that families who live in the same house forever are the ideal.

We know that we will never live up to your expectations.

We know that Kev works a lot of hours to provide for us solely.

We know that moving is expensive.

We know that adoption is expensive.

See ... in 1991 I met this boy in high school. He was my best friend's "boyfriend"--whatever that is at 15 years old. That sounds awful (we know that too). I loved him instantly. Love? No idea. But I knew I loved him. His arms. The curve of his ears. His chipped front teeth. His smirk. His heart. His goodness. We were close all through high school. He was my best friend and everything to me. Off we went to college together and were engaged when I was 19 (we know that was terribly young). We finished college and were married at 21 and 23 in a beautiful and sweet ceremony. We made a promise to love each other for life and death and to protect one another and to be faithful to our beliefs, even when others don't get us.

Here we are. 13 years of marriage later. 3 home-grown children later. 1 amazing adoption later. 13 moves later. Lots of memories, and places, and people who have peppered our lives with so much heart (and some with anguish). We know that we are solid and stable and warm and rooted in and out. Appearances are what they are through your own lens ... appearances.

We know that we have been blessed to establish 13 homes for our family. To live in new places with new people who afford us teachable moments to our children through living.

We know that our children are the happiest, most centered little people we know. Simplicity and home makes them happy. Home is us, not just the walls that surround us.

We know that Kev has a tremendous career. He is impeccably trained and a gift to his field. We know that we are blessed by his company and we count ourselves lucky. We know that EMS requires a level of selflessness and compromise that many would never tackle. I know that he does, every day, and he lives for it and for the strangers he tends to day in and day out.

We know that we will probably never live in one house forever. Why? This world is bursting with places to see and people to learn from and to laugh with. Maybe Maine, maybe Africa, maybe Hong Kong. We know that we are settled in magical, enviable ways, but to your mind, we are unsettled.

We know that we are deliriously happy.

We know that there is a little boy half way around the world who we belong with. We know that it is well outside of some friend's and family's understanding or willingness to understand. We know adoption is expensive, but "Orphans are easier to ignore before you know their names. They are easier to ignore before you see their faces. It is easier to pretend they're not real before you hold them in your arms. But once you do, everything changes." ---David Platt

I know that 36 years ago God put my husband on this earth for me and for our four children, those near and far. We have the intensely intimate pleasure of growing up and old together and living thoughtfully and compassionately.

We know that we are true to what we believe and to those who love us for who we are, not despite it.

We know that you mean well. We do too.

For the Love of Lobsters

When we first announced that we were moving to New England (and yes, we announced it ... kept it completely quiet so as to avoid all of our friends' and family's opinions on the matter ... just wanted our own uncolored decision to shine through) people repeatedly said, "Oh, you'll love Maine." "You seem like Mainers." "Maine is so beautiful." Maine, Maine, Maine.

So, we left our crazy existence in Colorado and moved and settled (figuratively speaking) into our little house and new town (not in Maine ... gasp).  Our first weekend in the area we took the short drive up to Maine. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, MAINE. It is lovely, and sweet, and clean, and cute, and charming, and seaside chic, and for heaven's sake ... the love of lobsters is really something to witness. From that day forward, we spent every Sunday soaking up the culture and richness of Portsmouth, NH and the slow, seaside way of Maine just over the bridge.

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We are only four short days from calling Maine home. I cannot imagine a more quintessential spot to raise our children, home school, and live simply and sweetly.

Thirteen years of marriage and thirteen moves later we can finally say that we have found our home.

Love

It was a beautiful week indeed. We accepted the referral of our little Ethiopian boy! (I love numbers and have to mention that we saw his face six months to the day that we applied to our agency and accepted his referral two months to the day that he arrived at his orphanage.)

He is four years old and his expressions are a swirl of sadness, curiosity, and soulful happiness. We loved him the very moment our eyes fell on him. Knowing his face, his temporary home, and even where he eats his lunch makes the urgency of getting to him that much more tangible.

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Last night, during our bedtime prayers, Gracie said, "Jesus, Please whisper to ___ that he has a family who loves him already and who is coming for him. Help him feel happy and hopeful and warm." Ellie said, "Jesus, what sissy said. Amen."

Smitten

We are moved ... far from "home" ... and mostly settled. We had to put our adoption on hold while we moved and adjusted here for the summer, mostly since we needed to find a new case worker in the right state and we have the task of redoing much of our paperwork.

We knew all along that we'd be adopting a toddler boy, one within a couple of years of Bugsy, and a bit younger than Ellie. We see our girls pair off when they play and during school lessons and that is part of our reasoning. Kevin and his brother are so close and we want Bugs to have that same experience, and there is a little boy out there that we were made for ... without question.

This week, just that happened. A little boy etched himself on our hearts and souls. And, we are smitten. I cannot stop looking at him and thinking about him. We've requested his file from our agency but with the holiday today we have to wait ...

We are praying and hoping for the start of something beautiful this week.

It Really Is Beautiful

Sometimes I get so caught up in the daily routine ... wake up, mama shower, get dressed, wash faces, brush teeth & hair, eat breakfast, dishes, get laundry started, tidy the house, snack, preschool for Ellie, lunch, naptime for Bugsy, keep laundry going, school for Gracie, Bugsy wakes up, snack, finish laundry/housekeeping, playtime, stories, baths, dinner, stories, bedtime ... that it all becomes a blur by the time I lay my head down at night.

Did I hug Gracie enough today? Did I laugh with the kids and act silly? Did I help refine Ellie's attention span? Will Bugsy ever learn to say more than "mama"? Did they have a fantastic day of fun and learning and joy? Did we accomplish anything at all, really? Was I grumpy when I should have been more patient? Was I gentle in all of my words and actions?

Probably not. It can be such a whirlwind, especially when daddy works long hours straight. Right now he's on a 72 and there are moments in which I can sense myself slowly losing my grip on reality. Bugsy has refused to nap today and the girls are bickering about the shade of blue in their hair clips. The floors need washing and for pete's sake if Gus would STOP shedding. The bathtub needs to be scrubbed and if only I could magically get the dust to stop settling on everything. ... breathe ...

But then there are slivers of light in the day when Bugsy will launch himself at me and wrap his chubby little arms around my legs, or play with my hair while we read stories; Gracie will see that I am struggling and she'll ask what she can do to help ... she loves cleaning and nurturing (bless her); or Ellie will color me a picture because she knows that it makes me giddy to see her creations; and Kevin sends me a sweet note at the most perfect times when I need to see his voice the most. Then the hurry of the day with three small children at home becomes utterly meaningful--the slivers of light flood me.

There is no place I'd rather be than right here right now. I am thankful every day for a husband who works tirelessly to provide for our family and who supports home schooling and all of my quirky ideas.

It is true that if we slow down and enjoy each moment we can *maybe* more easily find beauty in the everyday graces, but let's be honest, that is not my reality. I slow down at 1am when the kids are asleep, the house is clean, the next day's lessons are prepared, and I've had a moment to catch up with myself and my husband. The rest is a swirl of the immediacies of small children, tending to a house and husband, schooling my own, and reveling in the imperfections of it all. That is us.

A beautiful blur.