Weary of the Moon

One year in

One year is a measurement of time.  So is 365 days.  They are (generally speaking) a measurement of the same period.  So is 365 goodnight kisses.  But doesn’t that last one seem like so much more?

 It was one year ago today that the composition of our family came to be what it is today.  365 days ago we walked out of the Baby House in Cheboksary, Chuvashia in the Russian Federation and squinted at the sun as a friend took a picture of our family of five.  Stella posing, Jacob staring at Alex with a smile, and little Alex holding on to a weeble wobble and wondering why it could weeble and wobble but not fall down.  And now we are 365 goodnight kisses later, and lots of oatmeal breakfasts, and many miles run chasing him down, and more diapers changed than I care to count.  Our family is one year in.

 To understand some of the emotion of that day 365 bath times ago, you need to know we weren’t sure that day would come.  I’ve told the story of when we decided to adopt for the first time.  We have been so unbelievably blessed by Jacob and his quick smile and hearty laugh since the day we brought him home.  I’ve told the story of bringing Stella home and her shy disposition disappearing as she burst into life.  Our lives could never be the same were she not in them.  And then there was Alex.

 Terri and I talked to Jacob and Stella before starting the paperwork again.  They were all for it (some of these last 365 days of looking for their stuff he has taken somewhere they might have said otherwise!).  And so we jumped.  Knowing we couldn’t know what to expect, we thought we did anyway.  We completed paperwork, we had our home study (a very routine thing by that point), we completed our dossier and we waited for the call.  Our schedules were TIGHT that year.  I was working on the biggest lawsuit I’d ever been a part of.  Terri was taking her PhD comprehensive exams.  We though we’d missed our window of availability and would have to wait until spring.  And then we got the call but not as expected.  Instead of going to Ryazan (where Jacob is from), we would be going back to Chuvashia (where Stella is from).  And instead of going in the spring, we would be leaving Christmas Day.  “Isn’t that exciting?” our caseworker asked?  “It’s like a Christmas miracle!”  Except for the fact that we’d have to be at the airport on Christmas Day, miss having Christmas with Jacob and Stella.  And so we adjusted again.  We moved up all family traditions by a day, celebrated Christmas and got ready to fly.  But then an ice storm hit and the airport was closed.  We had to get to Moscow so we packed the kids in the car and drove to Houston dropping them off with my folks along the way.

 Finally we were there.  And we met little Dmitri (who would later become Alexander Dmitri).  It was a difficult trip for so many reasons, but we were into the next stage.  We’d done this before twice.  We knew the drill.  We came home, dove into the final paperwork, got it back to Chuvashia, and began to plan, fix up the nursery, and wait for that next exciting call. 

 But then something happened.  A woman in Tennessee decided she didn’t want her child anymore and put him on a plane back to Russia by himself.  How could anyone do that?!?  And the bottom fell out.  International uproar, talks of moratoriums on adoptions.  We had come so close, but it looked at that point like it might never happen.  We cried.  A lot.  And we tried to explain things to Jacob and Stella who just wanted their little brother home.  We comforted them as the anxiety upset Stella’s stomach and gave Jacob terrible dreams.  And we waited again.

 Chuvashia is very protective of her children.  We saw the teeth of that.  Even when it became clear other regions were again processing adoptions we couldn’t get a court date.  It seemed the judge needed to know more about us.  So we completed more paperwork.  Financial statements.  More doctors visits.  Tax returns certified by a CPA.  Letters from the local appraisal district.  Re-fingerprinting and redoing paperwork as dates expired.  And each time needing to get the documents notarized and then to Austin for apostilles from the Secretary of State and back to Russia to meet nearly impossible deadlines.  But not so impossible to overcome our desire for Alex.  I can’t tell you how many times I left our house at 4:30 in the morning to be in downtown Austin by 8:00 when the Secretary of State’s office opened.  Seven hours of roundtrip driving for a 5 minute meeting.  But that’s what the situation demanded.

 Finally.  Finally!  We got the call.  We were going back to Chuvashia in August.  We later learned of all the work our friends in Russia had done to get us that court date.  So we left home the week before school, flew to Russia, went to court (for 6 hours), and were finally approved.  Back home again.  A few days of school and work and then all four of us flew back to Moscow, took a car to the train station, took a train to Cheboksary, and Jacob and Stella finally met Alex. 

 That was August 31, 2010.  And then 2 days later, 365 days ago, we walked out of that orphanage together -- our family complete.

 One of my favorite movies is Away We Go, and it has one of my favorite quotes about family:

 It's all those good things you have in you. The love, the wisdom, the generosity, the selflessness, the patience. The patience! At 3 A.M. when everyone's awake because Ibrahim is sick and he can't find the bathroom and he's just puked all over Katki's bed. When you blink, when you blink! And it's 5:30 and it's time to get up again and you know you're going to be tired all day, all week, all your f***ng life. And you're thinking what happened to Greece? What happened to swimming naked off the coast of Greece? And you have to be willing to make the family out of whatever you have.

 Looking back at the last year I see love (and some frustration), generosity (and some “no mine!”), selflessness (and some selfishness), and patience (with a healthy dose of impulsivity).  And while Terri and I joke about it sometimes, the coast of Greece has nothing on this.  And 365 goodnight kisses later, I cherish the family we’ve made.

Alex's video

Holy Roar (from Terri)

Way back when (in 2001 to be exact), Darren and I got the CRAZY hair-brained idea that, dog-gone-it, we were going to adopt our first baby from Russia instead of producing one the old fashioned way. Because really, who wants to get pregnant when instead you can do stacks and stacks of PAPERWORK and have every detail of your life scrutinized, plus deal with the endless prodding questions of local and foreign officials about whether you are fit to be a parent?

When we started announcing our plans the questions started flowing.  Our favorite questioners were those who looked at us with twitching eyes and curled upper lips and said eloquently: “Um, what’d you say?”  The conversation(s) may have proceeded like this:

Us:             We are adopting internationally; we’ll be bringing a baby home from Russia in the next year or so.

Them:            I don’t think they do that in Texas.

Us:            Well, we’ve done a lot of research and are approved as a waiting family by an agency in the state of Texas.

Them:            Can’t you have your own kids?

Us:            Yes, we can have kids biologically but we’re choosing to adopt and they will be our own kids.

Them:            Aren’t you scared of the communists?

Us:            Um, what’d you say?  

Before we start thinking poorly of our well-meaning conversation partners, look back for a minute to 2001—if you can remember that far back! Angelina had yet to adopt her first child and Madonna would not for years. There were no adoption blogs (I don’t even think there were blogs!), nor adoptive mommy chat groups.  There were no “147 Million” t-shirts or websites. For sure, parents were adopting and some of them were adopting internationally but it wasn’t as common as it is today. We did not know ONE SINGLE other family who was in the same boat as us. Sometimes we really did feel like we were operating “out of bounds.” Like we might be a bit abnormal or crazy or maybe even absolutely N.U.T.S. Mostly we just felt alone.

But once we saw the need and experienced the joy that is adoption we became quite the proselytizers for international adoption. We were passionate with a capital “P” about what we were doing. If you know our story, you know that there was no doubt in our minds that God was leading us down this path. We wrote about it, talked about it, prayed about it, and thought about it. If you encountered either one of us you learned something about adoption and orphans. When we finally brought our oldest home, we both had that feeling of “this is what I was created to do!” We could hear the melody in our souls that gave our lives a rhythm to live by.

In the midst of that personal experience we had a dream—a vision even—that one day children from all over the world might find homes right in our community. We had looked into the precious but empty eyes of the children languishing in the orphanages and we longed for each of them to find their family. There was a song I would listen to often and pray the words: “Lord, send us reaching…send us rushing” to these children. I would imagine the faces of children who might one day find safety and love in the arms of families in my church or in my neighborhood. I didn’t know what else to do so I would pray and yearn for the day when our quiet song would turn into a holy roar of many parents and children rejoicing because the Lord had brought them together.

As the years went by, one adoption turned into three and PhD studies entered my world as well as elementary school activities, basketball practices, and gymnastic lessons. That melody that was once so prominent faded to the background. Our passion for adoption faded as the realities of parenting the children we had adopted settled in! We talked about it less, wrote about it less, prayed about it less. Busyness and tasks drowned out the quiet song of our life.

Then one quiet day not too long ago there was a (God-ordained) lull in the activities of life and I stopped to listen to our quiet song. To my surprise what I heard was louder and clearer that I remembered. There were more voices! There was a holy roar!  Suddenly I looked up from life and I could count more than 20 families I knew personally who had experienced the JOY of adoption. Just a click away are blogs and websites and chat-rooms full of adoptive moms and dads sharing stories, struggles, and triumphs. I can easily find reputable organizations dedicated to caring for the orphaned and fatherless all over the world. There are conferences on adoption and orphan care with thousands of attendees. Our pastor preached TWO sermons on adoption (one less) and our church started an adoption and orphan care ministry. At the first meeting there were over 100 people who had either adopted or were considering it!

It is here—the holy roar. Regular people no longer willing or able to live with the fact that there are millions of children who wait anxiously for the family God wants for each of them.

Oh can you hear it? It’s the song of the redeemed,

The pursuit of passion for the one who set us free.

Oh can you hear it? We’re crying out for more!

Listen to our song, it’s turning into a HOLY ROAR!

 

Can you hear it? Don’t you want to sing it with us? 

Here’s what you can do:

1.  Adopt or foster a child who needs a family. Yep, you heard me right! And nope, it ain’t easy. In fact it is fairly difficult and risky and can even be heart-breaking. But imagine how difficult, risky and heart-breaking it is to grow up without a family.

2.  Help a family who is adopting or fostering. They may need financial help, especially if adopting internationally. Otherwise they may also need meals or babysitters or help around the house. Most of all these families need your support and encouragement! When we were adopting a group of our friends literally took my to-do list out of my hands to see how they could help.

3.  Support an organization that provides for the needs of orphans. Don’t ever think your gift is too small to count. Here are a few we suggest and their websites: Children's Hopechest, World Vision, Drawn from Water

 

. . . and here is a link to the song . . . Holy Roar by Nathan & Christy Nockles

 

What are we thinking?

Waiting.

That’s where things stand right now as we move through the process of adopting again. It isn’t easy. It never has been. Having been through it twice doesn’t lesson the anxiousness of waiting between meeting our son in December and bringing him home. Having two kids at home to keep us busy helps, but in those down times – such as when they’re asleep – the anxiousness rises to the top again.

So in the midst of waiting we’re obviously preparing: nursery - check; clothes (mainly down from attic) – check; miscellaneous toddler “stuff” – check. And so the list goes. We’re also imagining. Imagining the court date. Imagining seeing him again. Imagining the trip home. Imagining our family of four becoming a family of five – the fun, the stress, the chaos, the joy. Terri shared the news with an acquaintance today that we were working on our third adoption. The person, who really should have known better, responded saying “What are you thinking?” As in “What are you thinking – you already have two kids, you both work, etc.” Seriously.

So since we’re in the time of waiting, I’ve come up with a list of some of what we’re thinking.

1. Children need homes.

2. Millions of children all over the world (and around a million in Russia) live without homes, without families, without hope.

3. Children in Russia live in orphanages where they are cared for as best as can be but that is no substitute for a home.

4. In Russia, kids “graduate” from the orphanage at 15 or 16. That means they are out on their own. By some accounts, 60% end up in prostitution while 15% take their own lives.

5. The Bible has an unmistakable thread running through it about taking care of the orphan and fatherless. God’s pretty serious about that. Adoption is one way to follow the way of Jesus in caring for the fatherless.

6. We’ve seen the orphanages. We’ve seen the statistics.

7. We’ve been blessed with good jobs, a good home, and the ability to adopt.

8. We know what a blessing our children have been to us.

9. We can’t imagine not adopting.

10. We’ve counted the cost – we know there is sacrifice. But we’ve also considered the cost if we don’t. To the little boy in Russia who deserves a home. And to us in missing out on the chance to be his Mama and Papa.

It’s not an impulsive decision, but it is a decision borne of passion. Passion to see a broken world made whole. This is one of the parts we play in that. I guess that’s what we’re thinking.

Tomorrow at the Moore house it is Stella Day -- celebrating the 4 year anniversary of the day we met our sweet little girl, Stella-Ruth. I can't believe it's been that long. At the same time, I can't believe there was ever a time when she wasn't in our lives. She was so shy and scared on that cold January day in Cheboksary. She is anything but that now. She's vibrant and absolutely full of LIFE. She exudes joy. The picture is Stella making cupcakes for her special day -- Happy Stella Day Stella!

What did you say?

So, 35 years old, some amount of gray hair (mainly in my beard), glasses with a prescription getting progressively stronger, tired muscles,a little excess baggage . . . and now loss of hearing!  Well, today I fight back against this thing called aging.  No more taking it laying down I say!  Okay, maybe I'm not putting up that much of a fight, but I did swallow my pride a bit, succumbing to hearing aid.  Yeah, that's right -- 35 and can't hear.  The doctors tell me it's conductive loss and correctable (statistically) at least with surgery.  I've decided to wait on that.  I mean, come on, it's almost summer and I've got to swim with the kids!  So today, I shoved these into  my ears so I would no longer act like this. 

What a day.

I've got to go take my geritol now and go to bed.

The end of an era

So I don't know whether anyone really drops by here anymore except people conducting random Google searches, but perhaps I am going to write this as much for me as anyone else.

Tomorrow morning we will officially close on the sale of our home at 2809 Hollywood Drive.  We moved out about a month ago and it's been under contract for several weeks, but tomorrow is the day it goes from being our house (albeit now, "the old house") to belonging to someone else.  It was our first house and selling it is bittersweet, the end of an era.

Terri and I moved to Arlington in August 2000 shortly after I took the bar exam.  Our first home was just north of Division in a rented duplex on Matt Lane.  It was small and not the best neighborhood and I wanted desperately to find a house we could (1) afford and (2) feel at home.

After a year in the duplex I found 2809 Hollywood.  I saw it on line and drove by on my way home from work.  It was a quiet street in the middle of a neighborhood.  There were lots of trees and it just looked right.  We ultimately made the plunge into home ownership and moved into our new home in July 2001.

2809 Hollywood will forever hold memories for me, as I know it will for Terri, Jacob and even Stella.  The backyard we created from next to nothing.  When we moved in there was a chain link fence across the middle and a falling down wooden fence in back.  There were large flower beds, small trees, and a place that had been an old metal shed.  It wasn't kid friendly or dog-friendly for that matter.  Over time (and through much blood, sweat, tears, and blisters) we transformed it into a great yard with green grass, a trampoline, a swing, a dog run separated by a picket fence and even built a small deck.  The crowning achievement may have come when we felt comfortable throwing our 10th anniversary party as a backyard party.  It was hard work making that backyard what it is.  I hope the new owners enjoy it.

There are other stories like that.  Late nights stripping wallpaper in the kitchen, the toilet that had to be replaced when Jacob tried to flush a ninja turtle.  Jacob's room that started out as yellow and magnolias and changed to red and little boy.  Stella's room that was just an empty room when our friends Matt and Angie helped us paint and convert it into a nursery, first for Jacob and then for Stella.  New carpets, new floors, new appliances when old ones broke down.  There are stories that go with all those things.

And then there are the family stories.  Terri and me before there were kids -- learning what it meant to be married but not newlyweds.  Quailty times and fights and laughter and tears.  I can see it bright as day in my mind.  The day we brought Jacob home from Russia, arriving to our home only to see that friends had hung up a swing in the front tree and child-proofed the house.  Teaching Jacob to walk in the living room.  Potty-training (sometimes in the living room there too!), talking, feeding Jacob in his high chair, his first birthday, and especially his sixth birthday a couple of months ago which was regaled by one attendee as the best birthday party she'd ever been to.  All memories tied to place.  And the same with Stella.  As I've written before, she would barely acknowledge me much less want anything to do with me while we were in Russia but as soon as she came through the doors of 2809 Hollywood, it was like she knew she was home, and she was okay and we started to bond right then.

We had good neighbors.  Jacob and Stella had friends across the street and down the street.  Elijah would just wait by the door hoping Jacob could come out and play and Cody was over all the time. 

Our satellite dish didn't always work because of a giant tree but I have great memories of Chris putting it up before he got sick with cancer.  Even in something so small as the dish I have strong emotion and memories.

We learned to entertain at 2809 Hollywood.  I remember when we first started attending Pantego Bible Church and learned about this thing called "Home Group."  Next thing we knew we were hosting and leading and that turned into dinners and parties -- Halloween and birthdays and our group expanded with babies everywhere but the house remained inviting to everyone.

And we developed our family traditions there.  Traditions like Jacob Day and Stella Day celebrating the days we met them.  And traditions like Christmas candles and our Russian Orthodox feast and gifts on Christmas morning. 

So when I say it's bittersweet it's because while those memories will live on, the place to which they all attach will no longer be ours.  I still question whether we should have moved.  I think the timing was right.  We plan to adopt again and wanted another bedroom.  The kitchen was smaller than we wanted.  Terri needed a dedicated office.  All those things are true, but it is still hard to close that chapter.

We'll bring the next child home to Shadycreek.  We'll develop memories there and traditions.  So far the memories have been contractors and fences and pool equipment and air conditioners.  Not the kind of memories I would want but I realize even now I'll look back fondly on those some day.  We'll finish hanging things on the walls, have family celebrations, make it home instead of just the "new house."  And our kids will grow up there.

But all that won't mean we'll forget our time at 2809 Hollywood.  Before we moved out we sat at the table and drank a toast to the house (with milk and cookies).  Jacob had suggested it.  He started by raising his glass and saying "It's been a good house."  Yes, Jacob, it surely has.

Four

So our friend Syd emailed me asking where this post was since I wrote the post Six about Jacob turning six last week.  Here it is.

Stella turned four yesterday.  We had her party on Saturday at the Howard Moore Play Pool in Arlington (Arlington has lots of great pools like this) and I think all the kids had big fun.  I know I did.  I also took a tremendous number of pictures.  Then I took pictures of Jacob's baptism on Sunday (another post) and then we took pictures of the kids (and me) playing on the new Slip N Slide in the backyard (which won't be a post because me playing on the Slip N Slide does not merit attention).  Now my camera is full and I'm not sure I have room on the computer for all the pics which is one of the reason this post has no pictures -- the other being I've been kind of busy today and yesterday for loading those up.

Now then, where was I?  Oh right, Stella turning four.  On her birthday we gave Stella her gifts (with her favorite being a karaoke machine which she loves), went to eat at Souper Salad (her choice -- I think maybe her brother put her up to it) and then to play at Chuck E Cheese (where I dominated the Dallas Cowboys pinball game while Jacob dominated the Podracer game and Stella dominated the Deal or No Deal Game -- we're a family of great game players). 

Final word.  It's amazing that she's four now.  That's older than Jacob was when we went to Russia for Stella's adoption.  Wow!  But also, it is somewhat anticlimactic (maybe not the best word but that's what I'll use) because when she was three last week she thought she was 24.  Now that she's four she still thinks she's 24.  I tried to explain that 24 year old girls (at least the ones I've known) don't smear food on their faces when they eat or where day of the week panties but I'm not sure she's buying it.

Friends

So Jacob has developed a number of friendships in our neighborhood.  There are at least 5 or 6 little boys around his age who come over to play.  They come to our house because we're the parents not yet ready for our 6 year old to roam the neighborhood streets (much less his little sister).  We love having them over and getting to know them.  That said, they come over to play pretty frequently -- ringing the doorbell, knocking on the door, and then repeating when we don't answer because we are tired, asleep, having rest time, eating diner, etc.  But that's okay, because, seriously, they're just 6 or 7 years old.

And that brings me to this morning.  You can see the post immediately below this one and read a little about our night last night.  It included dinner, a movie, and late night ice cream for the kids in celebration of Jacob's birthday.  In fact we've been on the go since last weekend when we threw his birthday party and it doesn't stop yet because Stella's birthday party is tomorrow (yes, both kids have birthdays sandwiched around the 4th of July) and Jacob is getting baptized Sunday (which incidentally means we have family coming into town too).  Nevertheless this morning the phone rings around 8:45 (I think  -- immediately prior thereto our household was asleep).  No, it wasn't Jacob's 6 year old friends, it was our friends yelling into the answering machine (which is in our bedroom) to get up and come to the City of Arlington 4th of July Parade where they all are because they love their children instead o neglecting them the way we do ours by not taking them out.  See they had also told our kids all about the parade and that they should go trying to get our kids to talk us into going.  Guess what?  Our kids were still asleep (of course after a late night) when the phone rang -- but not long after that.

So I guess that's part of being friends -- knocking, ringing the doorbell, and calling at inconvenient times.  I'm glad I've figured that out now and to all our friends, I promise that now that I understand that, I will endeavor to be a better friend to you and your kids too.

Six

On July 3, 2002, a woman we know only as Lydia walked into a hospital in the city of Ryazan in Russia and gave birth to a little boy.  Today we celebrated our son Jacob's birthday with him for the sixth time.  Happy Birthday Jacob!  And thank you Lydia.

Jacob is an incredible kid.  We've got pictures from his Star Wars Jedi Training Birthday Party held last weekend (billed by at least one little girl attendee as the best birthday party she'd ever been to).  I'd show you now, but frankly, I am too tired to get up and go to the other computer to get to the pictures.  It's been a long day from opening presents before I left for work to dinner at Jacob's choice of restaurant (the Long John Silver/A&W Combo on Park Row) to Wall-E at the movies to ice cream.  Big fun for all.  Pictures soon.  And more posts.  I've decided that I now have a lot to say again.

Jacob gets it

We left the house this morning for our normal five minute ride to school, only a couple of weeks left for Jacob in kindergarten and Stella in the 3yo class.  Here was the conversation I had with Jacob (Stella listening intently):

Me:  Guess what guys, did you know Holly is having Baby Kolby this morning?

Jacob:  So that's his name, Kolby?

Me:  Yep.  They'll have Kyley and Kolby.

Jacob (very serious):  I wonder how they're gonna deal with all that?

Me (laughing):  That's a good question Jacob.  I'll bet they'll manage.

Jacob:  So where's the baby now anyway?  Where's it grow really?

Me:  Well, a baby grows in a woman's uterus.  It's near her stomach which is why a pregnant lady's stomach looks big.  The baby isn't in the woman's stomach, it's in her uterus.

Jacob:  Momma's never gonna have a baby in her uterus.

Me (again laughing):  You're right about that Jacob.  Momma gets her babies in Russia or maybe another country next time.

Stella:  We're Russians!

Jacob (matter of factly):  I bet our little brother is about 7 months old by now.  I hope he's doing good.

Me:  You're probably pretty close Jacob, and I hope he's doing good too.

And then off he ran to his next to last week of kindergarten.

10 Years

Ten years ago today Terri and I were married.  What a crazy thing to sit here and look back on those ten cycles of life.  Those two kids in the pictures look like memories in many ways now as we raise our kids, work at our jobs, and walk down life's path together get drug down life's path by our children. 

Last night being the sentimental slob I am, we sat and watched our wedding video and looked through boxes of cards and letters and notes we had exchanged over the past ten years, both of us intermittently laughing at something the other had said (more often than not because of how different the words sounded than who we know the person to be now) and apologizing for not being so loving/affirming/present with our emotions and praise as when we were first married.  But I think that is probably not so unique.  The courtship, the honeymoon, the newlywed years are all memories, but it has been fun to look back on them and realize the love we feel for one another now took root in those nascent forms sprouting into a deepened commitment, respect, and shared admiration. 

These pictures are evidence that yes, we were once cheesehead newlyweds.

Click on the picture and you'll see a blurry copy of a note Terri wrote me on our wedding day May 16, 1998.

This one is a page out of my Daytimer (i.e. long before the Blackjack) showing the month of May including "Our Wedding Day!).  Time truly flies.  Can't wait for 10 to turn to 20.

A few pictures from Easter morning

On Easter morning we woke the kids up early and drove to the park.  We'd been reading different parts of the Passion Week story to the kids each day during the week and had talked to them the day before about Holy Saturday and the hope of Easter morning. 

It was cold and a little windy but we sat and read about the empty tomb on the first Easter Sunday, lit our Easter candles (our family tradition -- each candle tells us something of Jesus we learn from the cross and resurrection), and then sat under a blanket to watch the sun rise.

After our family sunrise service, after church, and after eating too much lunch, we went down to the zoo to take a few pictures of the kids in their Easter clothes.  Our kids, like most, like to overpose and oversmile, so I thought it might be best to let them smile more genuinely and try to catch them in the act.  Here are a few of the better ones.

   

  

 

 

I think there is something about enjoying God's creation (which they both certainly do) that is right, especially on Easter morning.

(By the way, take that SydCham -- we have pictures too).

Lost and Found

It's easy for me to get lost.  I can't really claim to ever have had much of a sense of direction.  I'm easily turned around in my own hometown sometimes, much less when I'm traveling.  In 1997 Terri and I were working at a camp in Livingston, Texas.  It was July.  We had just met in May.  She was "in a serious relationship."  I was seriously taken with her.  That weekend in July she told me she had ended the "serious relationship."  I couldn't stop thinking about things on my way to pick up some folks at the Houston airport.  Would she go on a date with me?  Where should I take her?  When should I propose.  You know, normal stuff!  The next thing I knew I was just outside of Galveston.  On our honeymoon Terri was asleep in the rental car as I drove us back from Asheville, North Carolina to Charlotte, North Carolina to catch our return flight.  Thinking about our new life, I knew something was amiss when I saw the Welcome to South Carolina sign as we passed it.  So there's a pattern there I suppose, and really, I shouldn't blame it on her.  I just tend to get lost, especially when distracted.  Not much has changed in that regard.

A few friends have asked what's going on lately.  We haven't conversed as much, I haven't written much here.  I've been distant, isolated.  It's an easy place for me to be.  Totally wrapped up in the here and now of life to be lost to the stuff of life.  But then I see the sign.  The one that says Galveston, Texas or Welcome to South Carolina.  The one that reminds me I'm not at all where I thought I was.  This post from Tom Davis' blog was that sign for me today.  100 people newly infected with HIV/AIDS in Russia every day.  That's 900 between the time Tom wrote his post and the time I read it.  900 lives changed forever.  And that's just Russia.  As I left work tonight there was a sharp chill in the air from a cold front that had moved in while I worked inside.  Driving home I wondered about the couple of guys who sleep in a makeshift tent just inside the tree line off of the downtown spur.  And I remembered where I live.  A world where things are not right.  A place where not everyone has a home, where disease and hunger and dirty water rob so many of basic necessities.  And I wondered at where my mind had been.  At where I had devoted so much of my mental focus and attention.  And I repented.  I repented of house lust, of spending too much time daydreaming of our next vacation, and giving every waking thought (seemingly) to work.  And it felt good.  And right.  And maybe the direction will stay clear for a little while.   

Why We Don't Celebrate Valentine's Day

With everyone's favorite Hallmark Day upon us, it is time to bring back up this post Terri wrote a couple of years ago.  A classic in my opinion (and just so you know, she is going to dinner tonight with her publisher and co-authors . . . so honestly, we don't celebrate it)!  Enjoy.

Posted by Terri:

At my insistence, Darren and I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day. I don’t want flowers, candy, jewelry, a card: seriously I don’t want anything. His friends sometimes laugh at him with comments like, “You’re going to be in big trouble. They always say that and then get mad if you don’t get anything.” (“They,” I assume represents all women; and the only other thing I can assume from a statement like that is that all women are manipulative liars who only want you to buy them stuff?) The reasons for my aversion to everything Valentine are many and follow in a random “stream of consciousness” style.

First of all, I am practical to a fault. Flowers die. And I appreciate them much more when they are the result of an independent thought, not the result of media bombardment and social pressure. Chocolates disappear after a day or two while the consequences of eating them remain with me (to be specific, they remain on my hips) for weeks. I don’t like or wear a lot of jewelry and I refuse to wear anything with hearts (unless my son gives it to me). Not to mention the fact that we share a bank account. Maybe I would rather put that money towards a mortgage payment or give it away to someone who doesn’t have a house? And I don’t want a card that someone else wrote and Darren just signs his name to (which he never does). What I do appreciate are those random notes that I get on a day like April 6 or September 18, that he crafted himself and that say the really important things that I need to hear (which he always does). Other things I appreciate: a clean kitchen every night, help with the laundry, the trash taken out, Jacob bathed and in bed every night, good conversation with my husband where my opinion is valued and sought after, consistent support and encouragement to fulfill my dreams…just to name a few things that Darren does consistently that are way better and communicate much more clearly than a stupid box of chocolates.

Valentine’s Day just feels like one more tool of Society to put me in a box that I don’t fit in. Society tells me I’m a female so of course I love all the things that his friend Mass Media is telling my husband to buy me. And if said husband doesn’t buy me said gifts on said day then I should certainly doubt his love for me…... NUTS! It can also be a hugely hypocritical day where men (or women, let’s be fair) who are generally unloving, jerkish types suddenly think that some cute gift and a romantic dinner can make up for the other 364 days of unacceptable behavior. Not to mention the amount of money our country spends on Valentine’s Day, as if there is one American that needs more stuff or chocolate. We could probably put a big dent in world hunger if we all decided to redirect the money we spend on Valentine’s Day. The bottom line is that I just don’t like the boxed up message of the day that love and romance can be bought and sold and that it looks exactly the same for every couple. Forced, pressured romance isn’t true romance.

Now if there are any men out there reading this, please don’t take this as an encouragement to refrain from giving gifts or planning romantic escapades on Valentine’s Day. First, not every woman hears love the way that I hear it. For some people, the giving of gifts does communicate love. The point is that you should know your wife/girlfriend enough to communicate love to her in a way that she hears it and you should do so on a consistent basis. And unless she is a vocal anti-Valentine’s Day advocate like myself (and honestly, I think I’m alone in this), then you can assume that she’s expecting something, but for heaven’s sake, be creative and make sure this isn’t the only day all year long that you are intentional about showing love to your wife/girlfriend. What if you gave her another dozen roses next week too?

And by the way, I’m also a bit of a hypocrite since I will now go to the store to buy my son balloons and drop them off at his school where earlier I dropped him off with a plate full of heart cookies that we decorated together. But I know that one way to show a 3 year old boy how much you love him is to put him in charge of the icing and sprinkles with no regard for the mess he makes!

Happy day between the 13^th and 15^th of February.

How much water is in that glass?

This year is in the top two of my busiest at work.  The other year, though, was before we had kids.  That makes this year the toughest I can remember.  I am often behind, home late, up early, backing out of various commitments, and generally trying to keep up.  I recognize the patterns.  I know the near impossibility (though notice how I still can't concede the slight possibility) of being superman both at work and home.  Yet it continues.  In part because I lack complete control over my schedule and in part because I allow it. 

And so lately I've been pondering the glass and what is in it.  Some days (all too many lately) I see a glass half empty.  I look at my day like this:  Wake up much too early, shower and dress, work for an hour at home, make lunches, wake up the kids, get them dressed, fix breakfast, find odd tasks needing done around the house until school time, drive the kids to school, arrive at work (having already answered a couple of emails and had a call or so on the way in), beat my head against the wall that is my job lately, come home, eat dinner and talk to Terri and the kids, wash dishes, clean up the dog yard (use your imagination), take out the trash, pick up toys, bathe the kids, read them books and put them to bed, grab a quick workout, take a shower, and retire to the couch with Terri for DVR'd programming and some type of stiff drink.  Go to bed and wake up to do it all again.

The same day, when the glass is half full (in a shortened version) goes something like this:  wake up, enjoy a quiet house and time to get some work in, spend quality time with my kids getting to take a substantive role in parenting as I fix them breakfast and get them to school, go to work where I get to work with very intelligent and hardworking people on intellectually challenging and competitively stimulating legal work for good clients, come home at a decent hour to a home-cooked meal (cooked by Terri who has had a full work day herself), enjoy time with her and the kids, read books with my children who just love spending time with me, get in some exercise and watch whatever I want on tv.

Those are two very different outlooks, but it is the same day.  The difference of course is attitude, and attitude, I've discerned, depends on so many factors both within and outside of my control.  But recently I've been thinking a lot about time.  I have the common habit of filling up every waking minute with something, leaving no room for nothing.  No room to just waste time by myself or with others.  No time to just sit.  And for me, that's critical.  I've heard some people talk about margins, leaving extra room in your life.  And so I'm trying  . . . and finding habits are hard to break.

This weekend was a weekend of creating margins.  We went to Livingston to visit friends at Camp Cho-Yeh.  Jacob and Stella played with a new friend, Ian, we stayed up talking to our old friends, Matt and Angie, Thomas, Patricia and others late into the night (or rather early into the morning), and I didn't get tired or irritable.  I watched football.  We watched the sky change colors at sunset.  And we rested.  And it was good.  There's something to that.

Now it is Sunday night.  I got half a dozen emails this weekend on projects needing attention on what was already set to be a busy Monday.  But this weekend reminded me about life.  And life needs to be lived and enjoyed . . . even the busy parts.  We'll see how that works.

Edit:  Just in case I get to thinking I'm the only one dealing with long days and fatigue, all I have to do is look into the kitchen right now where Terri is sitting (at 11:21 pm on Sunday night) collating ancient greek manuscripts as part of her phd work.  That'll put an end to a pity party pretty quickly.

Are You My Mother?

When we brought Jacob home from Ryazan to live with us in Texas he was 10 months old.  Sometime within the first 12-18 months of him living with us, we acquired (I don't say bought because frankly I don't know how we got it) the book Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman.  Oddly enough Jacob never really liked it.  In fact, he often cried if we tried to read it to him.  Terri and I always found it strange in an ironic sort of way that he was so sensitive about a baby bird searching high and low asking all he would meet, "Are you my mother?"  But he was sensitive about it so the book was shelved in favor of books about dogs and trains and dinosaurs and pirates. 

I bring all this up now, more than 4 years later because tonight Jacob insisted we find the book Are You My Mother.  Apparently his kindergarten class read it last week at school.   Being the dutiful father I am I found it (in Stella's room to no surprise).  And here is the crazy part . . . Jacob read it to me.  For the first time, he read a book.  It wasn't memorized and he couldn't make out every word without help, but he slowly and steadily made it through 62 pages of the story of baby bird searching for his mother and finding his way home.  I can't believe our little boy is learning to read and has learned so much already.

And most of all I am stunned that the first book he ever finished was this book.  That he read with me.  After I searched high and low for him and he looked for me.  And we found each other.  At home.  Together.

This Dad stuff can be pretty cool.

A must read

I am well aware of my lack of content here, and all I have to say is you'll have to live with it for now. 

BUT . . .

in the meantime, you need to read  this post from my friend Thad, soon to be a new dad again.

Jacob's getting married

**Posted by Terri**

Good news from kindergarten today: Jacob didn't lose any tallies (translation: he behaved like a proper boy.) Oh, and also he's planning to marry soon. Here's how the conversation went:
Me: "So what was the greatest thing that happened at school today?"
Jacob: "We went to computer class."  (Long pause....) "Mom, I've got to tell you this. I think I would like to marry someone in my class."

After my initial shock, I asked him about the lucky girl and he told me her name (which I won't reveal since he hasn't actually talked to HER about this) and he told me exactly where she sits (at the yellow table with him but across and over). I gave him some rudimentary advice on how to pursue the relationship (be nice to her, help her out, don't lose any more tallies so as to impress her with your stellar behavior), and told him he might want to ask his dad for more details later.

And now I am left thinking: "Is this really already happening?" I guess soon enough, he'll be thinking girls are gross again, so I won't worry too much.  Right?

By the way, I think my new daughter-in-law-to-be is the daughter of a policeman, so maybe he could help me out with all my speeding tickets.

Nemiroff Vodka

I finished off the Pale Ale last night so tonight I opened the cabinet and decided to enjoy a small bit of a vodka I brought back from our last trip to Russia (noting to myself that we'll have to go back soon as I am running out).  Here is a picture of what I am having called Nemiroff.

In looking at the company's website, I found it is a Ukrainian vodka.  This particular bottle is Rye Honey, a flavored vodka, which is really very nice.  If you get an opportunity, you should give it a try.  It is distinctively different from a standard vodka yet the vodka's taste comes through without question.   

Sierra Nevada

Like most people who start a blog, I find my time gets otherwise consumed from time to time leaving people to comment that the blog isn't being updated.  So, as an update, I will share my current beer choices.  Tonight I am being fairly pedestrian with a beer available at your local Tom Thumb, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale .  Nevertheless, it is a nice flavor with a full body and reminds me of time spent on the West Coast.

By the way, I am enjoying it while watching Eureka, a great Sci-Fi show.