Eleventh Month Gotcha Anniversary

I thank you, Lord
I thank you, Father for the gift of your Son
I thank you, Lord
I thank you , Jesus for the things you have done
I thank you, Lord,
I thank you Spirit for the gift that is here
Here in my heart


November is the month of Thanksgiving and the home of my second favorite holiday, Black Friday. Which lets be honest, Thanksgiving is meant for you to be thankful and to pump you full of food and energy so you can be ready and out the door at 3:30AM.

This Thanksgiving I have a lot to be thankful for. I’m thankful for my health, my strength. For having the greatest job in the world, where I work with and for the coolest people. I’ve got amazing family and loved ones. I belong to awesome yahoo groups and support group.

I’m thankful for my mother who reared me on her own and reared an incredible, brilliant, beautiful daughter if I might say so myself; and who now is an outstanding Oma to her three beloved grandchildren. My life wouldn’t be possible without her. Though she drives me crazy and in college had me saying, “I’ll never have daughters,” I can’t imagine my life without her.

I’m thankful for this funny sweet boy who is less than a month away from being five. Five?!?! How did that happen? I still remember sending one of my first emails to one of my yahoo groups about being nervous about sending off my adoption application. The replies were amazing and told me I should be nervous this was a big step. I don’t think I even realized how big of a step it was. I don’t think until you hold your child in your arms, you can even begin to understand. Angelina once said in an interview that before Maddox she had nothing to kill for. That statement always stuck with me because of its truthfulness. I would have killed anyone who dared harmed my precious baby boy. Still will.

I remember Jory’s first Black Friday when a man looked like he was about to step on Jory trying to get some electronic gadget and I was seconds away from yelling at Whit and Mel to come get Jory because I was about to throw down with this man. I’m not a violent person and I’ve never been in a fight, but this man was about to hurt my baby. Luckily he must have seen the glare and waited the second it took for me to move Jory’s stroller to the side so he could pass by.

I’m eternally grateful for the baby who was so awesome that when it was time to turn in the application for number two, I was nervous once again. I asked and wondered, what if baby number two isn’t as great as Jory. This kid of mine set the bar high. And once again, I was told it’ll be okay, you’ll think the new baby will be just as great. And Sasha was. Rowan was. And Layla was.

I love this little boy who talks with me, asks me questions, gives hugs when he sees me crying, and loves to give me kisses before he goes to bed. God has truly blessed me with this kid, I call Jory.

I love him as much as I love Rowan. My big girl has been my big girl since the day she came home, nice and unspoiled. When she came home I knew one day soon that Layla was coming home so I figured I shouldn’t call her baby. I thought I should let her get use to hearing who she would be and that was mommy’s big girl. At her loving foster home, she was one of five kids under the age of three and she wasn’t the youngest there. So there was always a look of surprise, at first, on her face when she got picked up moments after she started crying. With three babies under seven months, her foster mom or foster grandma couldn’t jump every time she cried. She was quiet and in the beginning would only truly light up when Jory came home. She was use to a crazy, busy household. I guess us being home alone with the TV going and the wonderful Joss Stone singing from the speakers wasn’t the kind of noise she was use to.

I’m appreciative of this beautiful little girl who once she felt safe and secure let her true personality shine. I’m happy to have a daughter who has habits that are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Though I can’t stand some of them, I know there is a lesson in it all for me.

I’m thankful for the caring person Rowan is. She’s quick to ask if you’re okay, will give you a hug if she thinks you need one, and quick to say I’m sorry if she thinks she hurt you. Rowan is so sweet, so kind, so playful, and oh so stubborn. I mean fall to the ground crying because you don’t pick her up stubborn. We’re working on the “I’ve lost my mind” behavior.

She is quizative. She adores her older brother and is very proud to be a big sister. She loves being helpful around the house, getting things for the baby. And absolutely loves being called and thought of as a big girl. Rowan also seems to love acting like she lost all ability to reason and think when we go to Sears to take our Easter/birthday pictures. One day, she’ll take a picture there that doesn’t show her sucking her thumb or have snot running down her noise or tears either running down her face or in her eyes. One day. Hopefully it will be this upcoming year.

I’m thankful for Layla’s bottom teeth. Her teeth grew in slowly. Two at the top, then two at the bottom. Then two more at the top. Then two more at the top and then a stand still. Six teeth on top and only two at the bottom. Months past and I saw back teeth on top trying to breakthrough, but nothing on the bottom. I was starting to get concerned. I thought soon I would have to call Whit and tell her to get a number for one of those moms on Toddlers & Tiaras so I could find out what dentist they took their daughter to because Layla might have be in need of some baby dentures. It was disturbing to see a row full of beautiful, pearly whites on top and two lone ones on the bottom. And it was just a little creepy. I don’t know why, but it was. Then suddenly, and by suddenly a mean over months, the bottom miraculously started catching up with the top and the call to Aunt Whit wasn’t necessary.

And I’m thankful and grateful and just all around blessed to have had such an easy transition with Layla. I was prepared for the worse. I was ready for a baby who hated me on sight, who didn’t want me to touch them, or look at them. I was prepared to feel like I was a glorified babysitter until my feelings of complete and utterly love kicked in. Our first full day together Layla did try to pretend she was sleep and actually did sleep to get away from me. But looking back on it now, I see it differently.

My pastor once told the story of a contest where the artists were called to paint a picture that illustrated peace. Paintings of sunsets, sunrises, tranquil waters, picturesque parks, mountaintops and the like were all submitted. And the winning painting was one of a raging storm, a turbulent river, a shaking tree, yet in that tree were a mother bird and her babies sleeping like babies. The gist of the story was that true peace was being calm and nonplussed when everything around you is crazy.

Layla could have reacted to her new situation by never sleeping, trying to stay awake as long as possible, watching and suspicious of my every move; but while she still wasn’t sure about what was coming next in her life she still trusted me with her life by closing her eyes and going to sleep in my arms.

I’m thankful for the little girl, who rocked her black t-shirt with her name in hieroglyphics and blue jeans which matched her siblings’ outfits, and happily sat in the high chair I once sat in, that her brother once sat in, and her sister once sat in, and grubbed down her Turkey Day meal without blinking an eye. She didn’t even ask to get up until her plate was clean. She couldn’t even bother to talk to anyone because she was too busy eating. I pray she one day doesn’t have nightmares about how her insane relatives somehow thought smoked hen and miniature fried chicken legs were a substitute for Turkey on Turkey Day. I know, you do wonder what our family was smoking. But rest assure, her mommy will now be on the food planning committee for Thanksgiving from now on. My baby’s first Thanksgiving and she didn’t even eat turkey. The travesty!

I’m thankful for the kisses. Jory’s kisses that are sometimes followed by him wiping his mouth and then my cheek. Does he think kisses have cooties? Rowan’s kisses, which require her to pucker up and then decide where exactly she’s going to kiss me. And Layla’s kisses which start with her making a kissing noise then following through with the kiss.

I’m even grateful for the baby that creates nights like these. I walked into the family to see my panicked mother holding/shaking a blue lip, limp looking baby. Tread slowly started to creep.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, as I took Layla from her, blow in her face, and do what I was taught to do for a choking baby.

“She’s choking,” my mother replied.

I grabbed the phone, quickly dial 911, as Layla begins to cry. My mother’s panic was rising. As I speak to the operator, Layla’s screaming can be heard loud and clear. Just as I suspected, someone had been holding their breath because they were upset.

The operator said it was best for the ambulance to still come and check on the baby since she was so young. I agreed and a calm and collected Layla and I open the door to let the fire department and medics in.

Being as this is their second time here (scalloped potatoes are not your friends) for a certain someone, I knew the questions they were going to ask. I mentioned she did have a history of holding her breath until her lips turn blue. To which, the head fireman asked, why I called them. I simply answered because I wasn’t in the room when she went blue and I was told she was choking.

And then the cutest thing was said. A twenty-something Hispanic medic looked at me with such innocent eyes and asked, “Why would she hold her breath?”
I wanted to reach out and touch his cute little cheek. Why? Why? Why would a twenty-two month old hold her breath until her lips turn blue? Well…have you seen “Seven”? Layla has her own seven deadly sins and when they are committed against her watch out.

Let’s rewind to five minutes before the 911 call. I was sitting on the floor, rocking a tired, crying, and cranky Layla to sleep while her brother was watching the greatest cartoon in the world, Scooby Doo, the classic one not that crap that they make now, when I heard a cry from the other room. Rowan was crying and I needed to see what was wrong with her. I decided I didn’t need two crying babies so I put the baby on her own rump and told her to watch cartoons with Jory until I get back. Sins one, two, and three were just committed. One, I put her down. Two, I left her. Three, I didn’t take her with me.

I went into the room to check on Rowan, who was crying because she wasn’t sleepy. Really? Really? I let that go. While I was conversing with Rowan about how she needed to stop crying and go to bed, a furious Layla made her way from Mommy’s room to the family room where her concerned Oma was. I figured the breath holding started while walking down the hall and Oma reacted with pure terror. In retrospect, I realized the limp body was her not wanting to stand up so Oma was forced to hold her. Oma’s fright kept the breath holding going. Cue me. Who walked into all of this.

I didn’t give the paramedic this answer, he wouldn’t have understood, but when he was checking out Layla’s heart she held her breath again. She didn’t let her lips turn blue so she was only mildly angry that he put his cold medical equipment on her chest. But the head guy did note her behavior. See dude, it’s not in my mind.

We refused transport to the hospital since nothing was wrong with the willful one and by the time they packed up their gear, Layla was sleep.

When I was relaying the story to Julie, I said, “Who taught her how to do this?” To which, Julie simply replied, “Does anyone need to teach us to sin?” Touché. Touché.

It shouldn’t, but it does amaze me that at such a young age, she knows holding her breath with Oma will always get her once she wants. She’s never done this when we are alone together. She has always done it when she and Oma are alone. And every time, her Oma is convinced she’s choking. No, she’s not choking. She’s being willful and wants her way, which on this night was for mommy to come back to her, pick her up, and keep rocking her to sleep.

I’ve dialed 9-1-1 three times in my life. Okay four, but I was a kid then I just wanted to see what would happen. I had no idea they could call you back. Never did that again. I called for my dad and learned how the medics are when they take a dead person out of your house and keep working on them as if they weren’t dead or there’s a chance they could be revived. Granted, my dad didn’t get the Michael Jackson two hour non-stop treatment, but he got enough for him to “die” at the hospital.

The next time was when Layla choked on a scalloped potato. I was able to get it out with the help of the operator and later learn from the fire department that they see a lot of kids who choke on regular and baby scalloped potatoes. And now this time. I had gone for more than two decades between my first and second call to them, but Miss Layla has me calling them twice in less than a year. Oh yeah and sin four was stating I was leaving Layla to go check on Rowan.

It is always better to be safe than sorry, but somehow Oma is going to have to learn not to be duped so easily by manipulating babies with their own agenda.
I’m so incredibly grateful that even these words don’t suffice, but I am so thankful that God sent His only Son to die for my sins. I’m in awe of our Creator who has and is allowing me to rear three incredibly bright, loving, fantastic children; who has given me my rockin’ family and awesome friends. My life is nothing like I imagined it back in my days in Moorhead or even in Sliema or Butte, but this life is amazingly perfect. Though marriage to a nice conservative Christian George Clooney wouldn’t hurt. :)


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Nothing's Gonna Get Me Down