My Baby Bro, Happy Bday!

The quintessential John as a boy

 Happy Happy Birthday and St. Patrick's Day to my dearest baby brother!
John is 45 today, which means I'm getting old.
But so is he and for the record, he is grayer than I am!
But even so, he is still cuter and has those eyes that sparkle and laugh, to go along with his crooked goofy grin and his razor sharp wit.

I miss him so, but I know he's having a great day surrounded by his gorgeous wonderful wife and two beautiful brilliant daughters, not to mention sparkling blue water, tropical palms and no doubt some great breaks as he heads out to surf this morning.
He's in Micronesia, still.  But to our great familial joy, and my parents relief and giddy exhales, he is coming home.  His family returns for good in only a few days and we are all counting down to the moment they get to go hug on them at the airport.

John and I were always partners in crime, play, you name it.  We were "the little kids," which we now lord over our older siblings with relentless pleasure.
I was terribly jealous of him while I was young, because he was the baby and ridiculously cute and was terribly spoiled and I couldn't stand it.

 I was spoiled too, as the  youngest girl, but I didn't understand that then.  Now, having many kids of my own, I get it.  It's the baby thing.
And John was and is the baby and favorite in the family.

 It can't be helped, we all accept it now..and admit it's just true.
Even though I was terribly jealous and imagined great suffering because of him, he could and still can make me laugh harder than anyone I know.  He makes me laugh until I cry and one of my favorite things is when all of us kids can get together and reminisce around the kitchen table, start telling stories which get bigger and more um, vivid, with every telling.  Soon enough we are hooting and wiping tears.  Great stuff.

So, today he's on my mind and in  my prayers and I wish him a last tropical blast of a birthday.
I love you so much John, I miss you and wish you safe swift travels home.
Catch some great waves and I can't wait to see  you soon.

My new favorite pic of him, ever.

 Happy Happy Birthday Little Bro!

I love you!

Detours

This is a post about detours.

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And apropos of this theme, I have a detour before I start blathering on about detours:

As I've been stewing about this post, this subject...a great lot of um, stuff (this is a G rated blog, right? right) has hit the fan in the Ethiopian adoption world. And I have a fair bit of thoughts about it rumbling through my brain...but those are for another post(s). {New requirements, across the board, for all families to travel twice - complicated and difficult and possibly good in the long run but a huge hurdle in the short for so many} For the moment, I offer my condolences and my ears to hear and heart to hurt for all of the children and families affected - for the cold slap in the face of worry that this news brings. But again, it's too easy to slide into the tempest of this news and start fretting aloud and repeating everyone else's words, and those who are in it, right now. And I'm not. I don't own those words. So I won't go there, not today. Maybe another day, ya never know! But I will probably also go off on a tangent or two...as I said, this just opens up so much fodder for pondering and processing, for me anyhow, which means, of course, for you!

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Back to current post:
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Anyhooo. As I said, I've been stewing about detours. It's hard to write all this because it's close. It carves right under that spot in your chest, right in tight to your heart and lungs. So if you cut too close you kind of gasp and can't breath, and you hold your breath as you talk closer to it, so that you can be really careful. Because you need to protect your own heart and also the hearts and breathing of the ones you love. I don't know, it's hard to make this make sense. I know I'm not making sense, and yet, this disclaimer must be put out first. Because its a raw spot. But it's also a spot that needs to toughen up, heal, move forward and that only happens by bringing it out to the light and looking at it, and thus, this post.

Right. Now that most have clicked away out of confusion and impatience, it's just us friends. Hey there.

So. A few times in my life, parenting life mostly, I have had some detours.
Scratch that: Ok, any life, my life, yours, we all have detours because no life goes as we initially plan it. Then it would be dull and boring and unsatisfying.

But I'm talking about the hard turn detours. The ones that have you ending up somewhere you never dreamed, parenting wise. Others have written beautifully about all this. I don't seem to be able to (again, hence this post). Probably the best known piece on this is here, known as "Welcome to Holland."

So, I've been to Holland, figuratively speaking. And you know, while the place has it has it's beauties, it's still a tough landing. And we have found ourselves detoured there once again, recently. And you know, this "Holland" is a complicated place. And like all control freaks (me), that detour thing?.....it makes you (ok, me) want to kick and fuss and whine.

Because I don't like detours....because they weren't in "THE PLAN." And that PLAN, well, we are, were, supposed to follow it. I mean, I had it all mapped out, you know? Knew where the bumps were, the turns, the scenic spots. Knew the time to get to our destination, and the best roads to follow. Heck, had even traveled it once or twice before. And when you are sent on a detour, even to somewhere with it's own intrinsic beauty, well, we control freaks kind of um, freak out a bit. Maybe we get frantic, or very quiet, or very deeply indigo blue. Maybe we stop trusting. Maybe we question if we ever did. Or do. Maybe we stop looking out, because the view has changed. And we get stuck with the rut of "but." As in, "But it was supposed to be Italy, not Holland." Or, "But, it was supposed to be in the PLAN, page 42."

And maybe it takes some time to realize that those detours are for us.

Those detours are for us.

Those detours are given to us by God himself.
Not as a punishment (because they are challenging, sometimes very hard, so it is easy to mistake them as such).
But as a gift.
A gift.

To call us back to Him.

To love Him better, right now.

To call us out of ourselves.

To save us from ourselves.

Those detours are not to deprive us/me of Italy.
That detour, this Holland, is to break our/my grasp on my own deadly vision: Us. Ok, me.

Finally, I realize that my struggle with this detour is me.
Of course.
Ever.

It has been ever so painfully shown to me (thank you Fr. Luke, ouch) that struggle is in my unwillingness to look....beyond my own miserable me. My plan. My day. My feelings and desires and needs. Those very things are what drag me into the indigo abyss. And that is not where I wanted to be or choose to stay.

And I forgot my prayer.
I - not so long ago - literally prayed this: "Save me from myself, Oh God, send me a child, the one you choose."

I forgot.

And He did what I asked.

Eight times.

Oh, dear, how could I forget that prayer?

This detour is for us. For me.

It all just IS for the child -- They haven't detoured. I have.

And they are waiting, pretty patiently for the most part, for us/me to step off the plane and start walking with them.

Really. Not grudgingly. Not counting the steps.
They are waiting to show me Holland. Again. Or - their Italia.

This blog, this post, helped me realize that it's ok to get frustrated with the detours.

But it's also ok to say the heck with it all, and we can make our own "Italy" right here.

Really?

Whoa.

I knew that, right?

Yeah, on the good days.

But I keep forgetting.

But, you know what?
I want to go to Italy.
I love Italy!

And who says we have to be stuck anywhere.....because detours are all about seeing new places with new eyes.

And I want to create some Viva Italia, starting now.

The waiting begins. Advent.

Waiting.
This blog is about nothing if not waiting.
Waiting is one of the very worst skills of mine; by which I mean, I stink at waiting.
I am wretched at waiting because I have no patience.
So, of course I have had to wait many times, and surely will continue to.
And it is surely the reason I have eight children.
I have waited for many things and people over the years.
Sometimes I fall into the huge trap of "wishing away my life" (as they say here in the south) by the way I wait.
It's true.
I have done that far too much, far too often.
I suspect I've lost years.

I have waited impatiently, filled with busyness, to finish college.
To get into grad school and out again.
Waited for Coffeedoc to finish med school. Then internship. Then residency.
Waited to stop being broke.
Waited to get married (seven years dating, so, I'm not kidding).
Waited to get pregnant (but only the third time...and that wait was particularly long and particularly difficult on all levels).
Waited to adopt. To be selected by a birthmom. To hold that baby.
Waited to adopt from Ethiopia. To jump through the paperwork hoops. To be matched with a referral. To pass court. To travel.
Waited for the CDC to clear my daughter to come home. To be allowed to travel.

Heck, I can turn waiting for Coffeedoc to get home for dinner into a sporting event.
So, yeah, I wait...all too often. And I do it all wrong.
Patience is NOT one of my virtues. Thus, I suffer a bit, or a lot, waiting.

The reason to drone on about all this waiting is that today is a special day.
Today is the day to try, once again, to approach waiting in the right spirit.
Today is the day to reframe the waiting into a better approach: preparation.
Today is the day to recognize the beauty of the wait: the anticipation, the slow glow of expectation.
Today is the first Sunday of Advent.

I love Advent.

When done right Advent is a season (four Sundays) of rich tradition, prayerful contemplative expectation, a settling into the deep; it is combined with an overlaid gauze of building excitement.
It is a preparation -not for a Christmas morning frenzy of torn wrapping paper and too many gifts.
But rather, a mindful preparation for the advent, literally the 'coming,' of the most important gift of all.

I almost always fail Advent.
I stay mired in the cycling hubub of my house, the must do's, the should's, the pressures and strains. I get lost in the jumble of calendar commitments and then resent the time they snatch away.
It's the curse of the goal oriented...this sense of 'eye on the prize.' Get to Christmas, make it happen.
But the trap is that then you miss the process, the very beauty of the anticipation.
You miss one of the most beautiful seasons of the year.
I wish away this gorgeous season.

This year, once again, I hope to be more mindful.
To prepare the gifts early enough to stop the last minute frantic fretting and gathering.
To dig in and slow way down.
I hope and pray to see and stop and savor the small moments - the ones I might miss as I move so fast through the days.

This is Advent. It's a beautiful time of preparation, inside and out.
It's almost Christmas! He is coming.
The waiting begins again.

"Know that the Lord is coming and with him all his saints;
that day will dawn with a wonderful light, alleluia."

From the Divine Office: First Sunday of Advent.

Warp speed, Scotty!

And so it begins...the Thanksgiving rush.
Today and tomorrow, especially, this is where I am:

"Mr. Scott! I need warp speed, now!"

(And yes I realize I have, once again, revealed my age by the reference....but there you have it, this was my era).
I love love love this holiday, but it's a major undertaking too. Much yummy cooking and much hostessing of far flung family (and I'm not the natural that Lori is, ahem). It all usually comes together, somehow, but it's something of a race. Thus, blogging may be light.

Now if I just had a transporter....I'd be good to go! See you on the far side....