The seven year miracle.

Baby #1 arrived approximately 9 months and 4 hours after I told the Canuck, "I want a baby." Baby #2 arrived about 10 months and 3 minutes after I told the Canuck, "I want another baby." Baby #3 didn't make her appearance until 7 years after I told the Canuck, "I really think we need another baby."

Those 7 years were loooonnnnnggggggg.... It didn't take 7 years by choice, it took 7 years because it did. The end. During that time, 596 babies were born in my neighborhood and I went from being the crazy-baby-loving-lady to the crazy-babies-make-me-sad-lady. I hated being that lady. She's a downer.

Finally, after the heartache from failed fertility treatments ebbed a bit, the Canuck and I decided we'd better pursue the adoption route. We didn't know if it would work for us, but we never ever wanted to say, "We should have at least tried."

We went for it. I could fill up an entire disertation on the adoption process, however I will sum it up in three parts- Paperwork, Paperwork, and Paperwork. oh and money. (our baby bills should be paid off in 2024. and I'm not joking.)

Let's fast forward to the month our PAPERWORK was complete- December 2008. We attended the temple with our ward and at the end of our session we found out about Bun. Kinda. Sorta. Not really, but in a way we did. Follow that?

A dear friend of ours hugged me in the temple that night, looked me in the eye and said, "February is going to be a very good month for you. It's going to work out for you." (To this day, she says she doesn't know why she was prompted to say this to me. She just felt it and said it.)

Let's fast forward to January. January came and went with all our usual birthday grandeur (this year it was curling at the Olypmic Oval and snow shoeing in Heber). That was January.

Next comes February, THE MONTH. On Friday the 13th of February, our caseworker called to say that a birthmum wanted to meet our family on Monday. Our caseworker wanted us to know that this birthmum wasn't due for a while- middle of March. This birthmum isn't sure she wants to place her baby. She's not sure you're the family if she does. etc. etc. etc. To say that we felt like we were on a crazy emotional roller coaster that weekend would be a lie. We felt like we were on the Witches Wheel of emotions. That's the ride that spins you around and goes upside down and you don't know where you are but you think you might throw up at any second. That was the ride we were on! And here's a secret for you- I couldn't help but think, "I thought February was our month, this mum isn't due until March." (I was still holding on to that little temple experience from December.)

And then came Monday. And the phone call that I THOUGHT was going to go something like this:

Caseworker: "Oh hi, I'm sorry but birthmum has decided she can't meet with you. She's got some issues to work out. These things happen. O.K.? bah bye."

Acutally it went more like this:

me: (expecting the worst), "Hello?"

Caseworker: "Hi. I just wanted to let you know that the birthmum meeting is still on, but we had to change the location."

me: (still thinking the worst), "Oh, o.k."

Caseworker: "The baby just didn't want to wait any longer. She was born about 3 hours ago. You're going to meet at the hospital, is that alright?"

At this point I stopped breathing while she told me about the baby and deep down inside I thought, "IT'S FEBRUARY! FEBRUARY IS OUR MONTH!"

I spent the next couple hours pacing, getting ready, and trying to find flowers to give to the birthmum. (someday I'll tell the flower story) Those hours made the weekend's Witches Wheel ride feel like the carousel in front of K-Mart. I tried hard to be calm and casual and optimistic. That is very hard to do when you feel like you're bungee jumping off a moving train over the Grand Canyon filled with alligators. Somehow I managed to get the kids and meet the Canuck at the hospital without being eaten by the alligators.

We met our caseworker, we met birthmum's caseworker, and then... And then we met Bun. Bun was just a little itty bitty thing (she came early- had to make it here in February I guess) and had a face only a birthmum and mommy could love. Bun's birth was what they nicely call "precipitous." Or in other words, "that baby shot out so fast she would've landed in the next room if the nurse hadn't caught her!" And when you're born like that, your face takes a beating. She was purple from forehead to chin, her eyeballs were even bruised, and her nose... oh my... it didn't turn the right color for a couple weeks! SHE WAS PERFECT!

We all took turns holding Bun and falling in love with her. The next day her birthmum signed the papers that said Bun would be ours. After that, we ate snacks and played games. It was our very first family night with Bun. In that moment, all the craziness, the tears, and the disappointment of waiting seven years to get baby #3 completely disappeared. Now we know why it took 7 years, we were just waiting for Bun to get here. That's all. Life is like that sometimes and you just have to wait it out.

Why I have three children....

I am mom to three kidlets. Ages 15, 11, and.... 6 months. Yes, that is a bit of a gap it's true. And no, we didn't set out to space the kids quite like that. HOWEVER.... I would highly recommend it! I'm thinking perhaps everyone should wait a decade in between children- you'd be amazed at the perspective you gain! When Bun was 5 weeks old and I was SO TIRED I GOT INTO BED ON THE WRONG SIDE AND ALMOST CRUSHED MY SLEEPING HUSBAND, I laughed and said, "Oh well this stage passes fast, and hey! When did you start sleeping on this side of the bed? 17 years ago? oh..." When Beau was 5 weeks old, things like that didn't seem quite so funny.
So why did we do it? Why did we go for #3 when #1 and 2 were finally potty-trained, sleeping through the night, and learning to drive? The answer is featured in the photo above. Beau and Beanie. We were warned that we would be questioned about our adoption quest especially because we already have two children. Our answer was, "We're on this quest BECAUSE we already have two children." We know we love this parenthood journey, we love these two delightful people who call us mom and dad, we know that two was not our luckly number. We knew there was a #3. And no matter how much time it took, how many times our hearts broke, how crazy it seemed to even try, we KNEW there was a #3. It was plain and simple.
BUT... the "knowing" and the "doing" in this case were not quite in sync. We KNEW there was #3, but the "how to get her here???" Not so simple- kind of long and complex actually. I'll try to sum it up next time in the "How I got three children," post.
Now you know, the Canuck and I are addicted to our kids. We spent almost 7 years trying to get our next "fix." And wouldn't you know it! We're addicted to her too!

Enduring Crap.

I don't even know how to begin this post. It's just my take on that age-old question, "WHY?" and at the same time, a tribute to a favorite uncle.

The Canuck and Beau left Saturday for a trip to Vancouver, B.C. Our uncle is ill, our dear, sweet, funny, caring, favorite uncle is suffering the kind of illness that only has one ending. The boys left early, drove quickly, and made it there in time. In time to hold a hand, express love, and even to have a laugh. The Canuck said that he will never be the same. He left part of his heart in B.C.

I'm thinking about our uncle's cancer and thinking. Why? Why does crap like this happen? And I am sorry that I can't make it sound more eloquent than "crap," but the only other words I can think of are "putrid crap." I'll stick with "crap."

And cancer isn't the only crap around. We all have had to suffer some kind of crap in our lives.

I could write volumes on that subject alone!

But I won't.

I just want to address the "why." I finally understood something a while back, or maybe I should say, I finally found an explanation I could live with. This occurred during a rough patch in our family planning. After a very exciting and happy Father's Day announcement regarding a newest family member, we were devastated a month later by a very heartbreaking and sad reality of a miscarriage. (ugh- this was after 2 years of this intervention and that intervention and $$$$$$ spent..... CRAP I tell you!) Why did this happen?

I had friends tell me maybe I wasn't meant to have more kids. I just couldn't buy into that line of thinking- like God was saying, "HA! NO KID FOR YOU!" I felt like God knew my sorrow and empathized with me. During a particularly spiritual moment, I realized that we came to this earth knowing it wouldn't be perfect. I suppose I always thought of that in terms of people- people wouldn't be perfect. But I don't think it's that limited. I think this world is not a perfect place, not just the people in it. Even the molecules get messed up and it just snowballs from there.

Our wonderful uncle has cancer. Why? Because this world is not a perfect place. And we have to deal with that.

We love you Uncle John. Even though this place isn't perfect, you were certainly the perfect uncle. Thank you.

AHHHHHHH!!!!

Words you can't type on the computer... #1- Bouncey Bun. You MAY think you're just labelling a little video of your baby jumping in the Cirque De Soleil contraption called a jumparoo, but in reality you are setting yourself up for a quick lesson in the depravity of man. Follow that? No? Let's start over.
We have a 5 month old baby girl named Bun. It's a reference to her origins. She's the Bun we got without the oven. We also call her our "oops" baby because from the time we found out about her to the time we got to call her our own was 27 hours! Oops! We got a Bun without the oven! (keep up with me people!) Our two other kids, Beau and Beanie were homemade, we had to wait the usual 9 months for them. I digress.
The Canuck (father to all three Bs) has what we call "jumpy legs." His legs do not stop moving, ever. Even during sleep. (believe me, this took some adjusting to in the first year of our marriage!) He has passed this down to all his children- whether by nature or nurtre. They all have jumpy legs.
Bun is the luckiest one of the three. She gets to use her jumpy legs to bounce in her jumparoo- this is the crazy thing that looks like the love child of a baby swing, johnny jump-up, and walker... She can sit in it and bounce to her heart's content!
I video taped Bun bouncing earlier this week. She was having so much fun and I wanted to share the joy. I labeled the clip, "Bouncey Bun." In my mind, this was the perfect way to describe the movie. AHHHH!!!!
If you know anything about YouTube, and even if you don't, you should know this... The website autmatically posts "similar" videos next to the video playing. I suppose this is to bring up, "other things you might enjoy..." AHHHH!!!!
Next to our sweet baby, getting her afternoon exercise, were several clips involving bouncing and buns. not a single baby. not a single jumparoo. all bouncing buns. mostly clad in NOTHING. AHHHHHHHH!!!
Note to self- think before you type! Even if naked bouncey buns don't SEEM video-worthy... apparently that is not an opinion shared by others. go figure. AHHHHHHH!!! What kind of joy are they trying to share! AHHHHH!!!
The moral of the story is- I re-named the video to Jumping Baby. and I just can't seem to shake this feeling.... AHHHHHHH!!!!
BUT... If you go to YouTube, look up Jumping Baby. She's really cute!

This waiting room is rated R.

Dear Girls-
As the mother of a 15 year old boy (let's call him Googly Eyed Fluff Brain), I am asking that you cover up, sit up, and shut up. This request stems from an experience I had at the dermatologist with Googly Eyed Fluff Brain last week. As we sat in the waiting room, two girls (also 15, let's call them "Might as Well Be Nakie" and "Almost Nakie") came in to wait too. Might as Well be Nakie sat in the not-so lady like manner of one foot perched on the seat next to her and Almost Nakie was sitting more slouchy by her. They flipped through the "Cheerleader" magazine (I know, right- the dermatologist office stocks "Cheerleader" magazine in its waiting room!), and all the while discussed the drama of having "too big" of pom poms this year and what kind of writing their warm ups were going to have. (It's cursive by the way) Clearly none of this was secret because they were talking as if addressing an entire auditorium- without a microphone. It wasn't the shorty short shorts that got me- although sitting with one leg practically thrown over your head while wearing shorty short shorts IS...um...revealing... It wasn't the tank tops with plunging necklines that got me- even though that is also revealing... It wasn't the very loud discussion that got me... What got me??? Googly Eyed Fluff Brain did - his eyes almost never left Might as Well Be Nakie and if they did, it was to look at Almost Nakie. It gets worse, Almost Nakie started fishing around in her shirt and just when I thought "Oh Dear LORD one of her girls is going to jump out!" she pulled out a cell phone. (keeping it warm??? who knows- oh wait, no pockets in the shorty short shorts and her with no purse. Gotta keep it somewhere.) GIRLS! PLEASE! These young men do not NEED more material for their imaginations! Would it be sooo hard to wear shorts that reach your thighs? Could you just maybe sit in a chair the way it was designed to be sat in? If you have to get your phone from your "special place," could you please do it a little less vigorously and maybe turn to the side?? I am not trying to sound like a prude, but I am a mom and I want my son to appreciate girls. I want him to respect them. I want him to go to the dermatologist office and not hope for a peep show in the waiting room! And while you are contemplating my requests, I will be fitting Googly Eyed Fluff Brain with blinders.
Thanks.

GO TO MY ROOM! (and clean my closet please...)

I am afraid that the little room off of our bedroom (LROOOB) is beginning to scare me. I suppose you could call it a closet, but closet seems like such a benign little space. LROOOB is definitely not benign and isn't so little. I've considered posting "HARD HAT AREA" on the door of LROOOB. It's only funny until a container of hot rollers falls on your head- hot rollers that are percariously perched on the top of a stack of towels that are even more precariously perched on top of my pajammas. (they fell from a really really TALL location is what I'm getting at) Confession time here- I've taken to just throwing stuff to the top of my precarious perches in the closet and hoping they stay. It's almost like a little game of chance- I throw the stuff and if it stays put, I win!!! Yesterday I had to fetch something out of the back of LROOOB and that's when I realized just how craptastic it had become. After wading through my sea of shoes, lifting my collection of ugly purses to the side, and almost swearing after stubbing my toe on a 10 lb. dumbell (???? in the LROOOB? REALLY???), I made it halfway there... This is bad. This place needs an INTERVENTION! I'm spending way too much time baking bread and sewing my children's clothing! (that's my code for "sitting at the computer") I need to spend some time with LROOOB, put it on a diet, maybe even encourage some drastic purging. That's it! My closet needs a colonic! a cleanse if you will! I'll get to it soon, I promise! In the meantime, I've got 12 loaves to bake and an outfit to pin together.

Watch me pull an attitude out of my hat!

Today my daughter went to a birthday party and wore a top hat. This might seem normal if we were a family of magicians, but the only thing we've ever managed to make disappear is money... Beanie is, how do I put this? Beanie is a creative soul whose independent spirit sometimes makes her momma cringe. This is where the true bloggtress would post a photo of said top hat, but I'm new and didn't have a camera handy. AND honestly it just seemed normal to me that she would leave the house wearing a top hat. Let me clarify that, it is not exactly normal for an 11 year old to don a top hat, but for Beanie? I'm surprised it wasn't a top hat with feathers. Now here is the lesson for today, why do we care so much about how something might look to others? How can I, as mother to this child who dreams of wearing neon jeans to school this year, not be the first in line to say, "WHAT are you wearing?" and instead proclaim, "If anyone can pull that off, it's you Light Brite!" Shouldn't I be her biggest fan? Shouldn't I encourage her to be herself? Shouldn't I celebrate her sense of (gulp) style?? Tonight I am throwing off my self-conscience "don't you just want to fit in" mantra and letting you all know, "MY DAUGHTER CAN ACCESSORIZE LIKE NO OTHER!" and I'll be wearing a top hat while doing it....