I Dreamed of Green

I always wanted to live some place green.

I remember the day I decided my favorite color was green, because there was so precious little of it in the desert. I stood on the roofless playhouse my dad had built, looking out over the endless miles of dirt and Joshua trees. I promised myself when I grew up, I would live some place green.

By the time I was twelve, I was convinced I had a black thumb.

My parents had given me have a little plot of dirt in a corner of the backyard for my very own. It was a sunny, happy little plot, under an apricot tree. And I was determined to have an herb garden. I marked it off with a little wire picket fence. I painstakingly drew grids on graph paper and planned where every plant would go, taking into account amount of sunshine and water each needed, how big each plant would get, etc. I even put a patio chair in the corner, so I would have a place to sit and enjoy my garden. And over the next few years, I attempted to grow every herb you could think of.

First I tried growing them from seed (yeah, that didn't work).

So then I tried buying the actual plants: dill, basil, oregano, mint, thyme, sage. Everything herb-like that Wal-Mart stocked in their garden department.

I dumped months of allowance and babysitting money into my little plot. I planned, I planted, I watered.

And they died. One by one. The dill couldn't take the heat. Neither could the basil. I over-watered the aloe vera, rotting the roots. The sage shriveled up under the intense sunlight.

The one and only plant that survived my years of black thumb-dom was a lavender bush I planted under the apricot tree. Maybe the shade made the difference. Or maybe the water didn't leech away so readily. Whatever the reason, that one lavender bush took hold of the desert soil with abandon and within a few years, grew to a monstrous size.

Oh, how I loved that bush! Every spring I could look forward to a profusion of little purple flowers and a scent that captured my heart like no other. More than that, it proved I could grow things. My thumb wasn't black; the gritty desert soil simply conspired against me. The lavender gave me hope and when I moved away for college, I was sorry to leave it behind. Actually considered several (ill-advised) plans for taking it with me.

Now I walk the green grass in my front yard, delighting in all the little growing things that call it home. A newly planted daisy bush. Phlox that is coming back to life for its third year. Tiny nastursium leaves popping up out of the soil in yellow pots. Sweet pea seeds, planted but not yet sprouted. Lavender growing both in pots and in the ground. My yard will be a riot of color and beauty this summer. I have finally found a place where I can grow things.

I finally live some place green.

Welcome Sunshine

It's don't-leave-chocolate-in-your-car kind of weather.

It's a beach-towel-hanging-over-the-deck-railing-to-dry kind of day.

It's a sand-between-your-toes afternoon.

This is August in May.

Summer weather already? Yes please, and thank you!

Beachy days make me so happy.

Laughing, shrieking children. Jeans rolled up. Sports-brella providing shade.

Friendly conversations under an unbelievable blue sky.

I'd forgotten the world could be this beautiful. Five months of misty gray will do that to your memory.

I can feel myself waking up. The world is waking up with me.

It's going to be a beautiful summer. Made all the more special because it's come early.

It's the sand-collecting-in-my-trunk season. And I aim to enjoy every single minute.

Pillow Talk

He comes into my room this morning, jumps up on to the bed. Without preamble, he says:

 

“Mommy, why you not making waffles?”

Well, good morning to you too little boy. Only it probably came out my mouth like "Nuuuh, ughh."

Then the questions start.

“Uh, Mommy? What’s a mirage?”

“How you make a heart with your fingers?”

“What are rumors?”

“Does Daddy sleep on this side of the bed?”

And then finally, “Mommy? What about Santa Claus?”

“What about Santa Claus, Caleb?” At this point, coffee is sounding pretty good.

“Is he real?”

“No, he isn’t real.”

“He’s not real???” (We had this conversation multiple times last Christmas. This revelation really shouldn’t come as a shock).

“Well, he was a real person who lived a long time ago. But he’s dead now.”

“He’s extinct like the dinosaurs?”

At which point, the laughter overtakes me and I am unable to answer any more questions.

Hard to believe three years ago, we wondered if Caleb would ever be verbal. He’s come so far. I watch old home videos of him, when all he could say was “more” and “thank-welcome.” He’s adorable and blonde and oh-so-little. I remember my worries, the burden of uncertainty I carried around about his future.

Now I quote Shrek to people who comment on how chatty Caleb is.

“Yeah, it’s getting him to shut up that’s the trick!”

(No, I don’t say shut-up to my son. Sheesh people, keep your shirts on!)

He’s growing up, this little boy of mine. At an inch past four feet tall, he’s not exactly little anymore. My mom says he looks like a seven or eight year old, and I have to agree. The new hair cut might have something to do with it. We finally gave up the page boy/bowl look and let the stylist buzz it. Now he’s just a boy. No more “little.”

And I’ll admit that makes me just a teensy bit sad.

 

 

While we're on the topic of things hard to believe, we're still homeschooling. :) This new adventure hasn't been easy. I nearly quit a time or two (or twenty). But after some rookie mistakes, numerous adjustments, and a curriculum change, I'm pleased to say we finally found a routine that works for us. We only have two months left of kindergarten (!!!) and I'm actually looking forward to first grade next year.

We're also still adventuring through the land of Foster Care. We received our license in February; now we're just waiting for our first placement. Caleb is super-excited to be a big brother. We talk often about his "little brother", what toys he might like, what he might be doing today. We pray for him, too. Whoever he is, wherever he is, we pray he is safe and loved and taken care of. We pray God would prepare our hearts to welcome him into our family. We pray God would bring him soon.

Waiting is, without a doubt, the hardest part. I'm a girl of action. Give me a plan, point me in the right direction, and I will go go go until I either collapse or achieve the goal. But waiting? Waiting is so . . . unproductive. The Lord keeps reminding me that I wait for His timing, and through this waiting I learn patience. Which sounds way more way more philosophical than it actually is!

 

So that's a little of what we've been up to lately! I have catching up to do with my fellow bloggers, but I hope you're all enjoying a lovely spring and making plans for summer. :)

 

Brave First Steps

We took our first step into a brave new world today.

Nothing dramatic occurred to mark this day as different or special. We ran errands this morning. Ate lunch around the computer. Played World of Warcraft together. In a little while, I'll close the lap top, venture into the kitcehn, and make a double batch of waffles to put in the freezer. Oh the excitement!

But whether out of the ordinary or no, today is worth noting.

Today, Caleb started on ADHD medication.

This day has been a long time coming. Even as I picked up the prescription last night, I wondered.

Are we doing the right thing? It's a mother's perogative to worry about her child. Isn't it also a mother's perogative to want the very best for him?

That's where I am. Torn. Between worry and determination. Lord help me.

I guess only time will tell.

Silly Moments with Caleb

And now it's time for Silly Moments with Caleb. The part of the blog where I share some of Caleb's recent silly moments.

While Caleb was sick this week, we rented Despicable Me. A family favorite, he watched it no less than three times. He had shrink rays on the brain after that. He came into the living room some time later, and told me his "evil plan." Determined to find himself a Shrink Ray, by whatever means necessary, he attempted to "ska-doo" into the TV (thank you, Blues Clues). Before I could warn him off, his head connected with the television and I heard an audible crack. He turned around, slighty cross-eyed and shrugged. "It's all part of the plan. More or less." (And thank you, Special Agent Oso).

I laughed so hard! "Son, you mixed up so many different stories there, I think I'm dizzy!"

~~~
Since September, Caleb's new favorite toy has been Legos. Every day he plays with them. Mostly he builds monsters. But sometimes he makes creatures. And chariot-cannons. And cages for skeleton horses. And . . . well, you get the picture.

He has picked out a particularly large Lego set that he wants desperately. He'll tell anyone who asks (and many who don't) that he wants "the Monster Fighters Crazy Scientist."

We've told him (repeatedly) that he can ask for it for Christmas. We've told him Christmas isn't far away, and no, we're not buying it now, because it's a little on the expensive side.

But since when is patience a five-year-old's strong suit?

Over the last few weeks, Caleb has devised ever more improbable and impractical plans for getting said Lego set. It went from asking Santa, to enlisting the help of imaginary friends, to going on quests and solving mysteries, all of which somehow lead to Legos. The other morning, bright and early, he got up and without a word, went out the front door. Jason was already up and heard the door open. Going to investigate, he saw Caleb standing uncertainly in the driveway. "What are you doing, son?"

"I was going to Wal-Mart to get the Crazy Scientist," he said. "But I might get lost. I'll wait for Christmas." And with that, he turned around and came back inside.

Can I just tell you how glad I am he didn't decide to walk to Wal-Mart?

Oh, that crazy boy of mine!

Unfortunately, many of his plans also involved stealing the Legos from Wal-Mart. I blame Captain Hook for this. But that's another story. Suffice to say, we've had many many conversations about stealing in recent weeks and thankfully, I think Caleb finally understands that stealing is bad. I've also restricted how much Jake and the Neverland Pirates he watches. :)

Happy Thanksgiving week, friends!

Have You Seen My Brain?

It was here a minute ago.

*scratches head*

Hmmm, I sat down to watch TV a few hours ago and now it's gone. Like it just sprouted legs and walked off. Was it something I watched?

WARNING: Nerd content below

I have to watch what I watch these days. Balance is everything. One can get into serious trouble if one's TV habits are out of sync. Too much crime drama, for example, and I get depressed. I find myself pacing aimlessly through the house, wondering if anyone will ever love Tom or if Callen will ever discover what the G stands for. A dose of such shows now and then is fine, but a steady diet? Hardly healthy. I'm afraid I'd become another crime statistic.

Too many English period pieces and I begin thinking with an English accent. Oh that's fun. Try going over a grocery list with Emma Thompson in your head. You begin to wonder if you own enough tea or if beans really do taste good on toast (they don't). It's when I begin praying in English brogue that I know I've had too much. Somebody better stop me before I find a corset and start calling everyone by their last name.

Horror shows? Heh, no. That box shall remain unchecked on my list of TV experiences. I already have enough trouble sleeping.

Documentaries, anyone? Now I bet you're wondering "Can one truly overdo documentaries?" The answer is yes. I know I've had my fill when I'm afraid to fall asleep lest some creepy crawlie slithers into bed with me. Or when I refuse to take Caleb to the beach because, waiting quietly in the shallows, are 27 species of shark that I never knew existed, but who are quite willing to rend the flesh from my bones. Thank you, Discovery Channel, for another excellent educational program. And another sleepless night.

Science fiction? Now I love me some science fiction. You can't over indulge Sci-Fi. I will say this though: be careful what you watch. If your first experience with Sci-Fi was Star Trek, the genre has probably been ruined for you. With a few notable exceptions, not much measures up to Star Trek. My husband and I watched our first Battlestar Galactica episodes this week. All I could think was, "These poor people. No replicators, no holo decks. Heck, their ships don't even have shields. I doubt this war with the Cylons will end well. They should form an alliance with the Federation. Captain Picard could send an away team and. . . oh wait . . . this isn't Star Trek."

So you see, balance is everything. Watch a burned spy in Florida and then the popular doctor from the Hamptons. A little Sy-Fy with a little Discovery Channel. If you're careful, you can keep your brain happy and it won't leave you to go on vacation.

Now if you'll excuse me. We've been watching Scooby-Doo for the last three hours and my brain is probably half way across Washington by now. Higher faculties can only handle so much "Jinkies!" and "Zoinks!", ya know?

Happy Thursday, all! And remember: with great television comes great responsibility. Watch responsibly!

Lost and Found

A serendipitous moment chanced my way the other day. Trolling through iTunes I happened upon an old music group that I used to listen to when I was growing up. It was a Christian band from the 80's called "Wendy & Mary." Anyone heard of them? The music is simple. Nothing spectacular. But the lyrics are masterfully written, stirring and sweet. These two women sang Scripture. They sang Truth. Even as a little girl, I was moved by them. Wendy & Mary had the ability to evoke peace.

An ability that came in handy in a rather unexpected way. When I was seven, living in a small town in the middle of the Mojave desert, I lived through a 7.6 earthquake. It happened in 1992, the year of the L.A. riots and Hurricane Andrew. It was the year we got rid of Zorro the dalmation and bought Belle, the miniature schnauzer puppy. It was June, just a few weeks away from my eighth birthday. Just before dawn, before the triple-digit heat could rise with the sun, the earth rocked and rolled.

Vivid snippets of memory still survive in my mind. My dad throwing himself over me to protect me. My mom catching and pushing our tv back into the entertainment center as it bounced out. The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen. The shaking seemd to last forever. I remember wondering when it would end.

Gas and water lines ruptured during the earthquake and we lived with friends for two weeks until the utilities could be restored. Hairline fractures covered the ground for miles and I remember pushing dirt back into them in our yard for weeks after. Mom bought new dishes. The kitchen linoleum had cracked and had to be replaced. But mostly? I was afraid to sleep alone.

I spent the rest of the summer sleeping on the floor next to my mom and dad's bed. The very idea of returning to my own bed terrified me, so with all the insight and resourcefulness of an eight year old, I figured I'd just sleep with my parents forever. But when September rolled around and school started, Mom and Dad said it was time for me to return to my room.

I bit my lip, shook my head, started to cry. But my parents had a plan. They put my little Fisher Price cassette player in bed with me each night. And they gave me a Wendy & Mary tape to listen to. The music played softly in my room for months as I fell asleep hearing

"Patiently I waited and He heard my cry

He brought me up and set my feet on solid ground"

"Welcome home! to a Love that has waited since before time began,

to a Love that remains when everything else is gone"

"Only in God is my soul at rest, from Him comes my salvation,

My stronghold, my Savior, I shall not be afraid

My stronghold, my Savior, I shall not be moved."

For one frightened little girl, these songs conjured a peace that covered each night and held the fears at bay. Only now, looking back, do I realize just how intently He was watching over me.

So imagine my delight at finding these dear old songs available on iTunes!

May I introduce Wendy & Mary to you?

Welcome to Holland

A good friend of mine, with special needs kids of her own, sent this to me some months ago. It bubbled back up to the surface of my mind this week, so I thought I'd share it with you.
Welcome to Holland
by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability- to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip -to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills... and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ...about Holland.

Reprinted with permission from Emily Perl Kinglsey. 1987 copyright by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved.