tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53053069908260636122024-03-04T22:53:14.491-08:00...The Adventures of Breagirl...Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.comBlogger525125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-22176024752542020172015-01-06T16:56:00.003-08:002015-01-06T16:56:50.423-08:00Who's that girl?I've been itching for a while now to write. It's like that little voice in the back of your head telling you it's time to start writing down your thoughts again, but I continue to silence it simply because a) I'm afraid I won't have the time b) I won't be consistent c) It won't feel like it did last time. I used to love blogging. It was such a relief to write it all down when we were going through both of the adoptions but now FIVE years later (yes, it's been FIVE YEARS), my life is in a different place. I have different things to talk about. I looked back through this blog before I decided to write this piece and realized that the last few posts I even wrote, I was really struggling with depression and even that seems so long ago. Then, I look at the picture above. I don't even recognize that girl. Not only am I about 40 lbs lighter now, but that woman was depressed, stressed, overwhelmed and struggling. Now, even though I still struggle with juggling all my different roles in life, I try my best to take it all in stride. I take my "happy" pill every morning and struggling with depression is a thing of the past but something I openly talk about instead of being embarrassed about. That girl in the picture has lost friends to suicide, cancer, a disagreement. She's had struggles in her parenting, in her marriage, in her weight, her self image, her finances and her overall health. That girl would have never dreamed of seeing a therapist and now I look forward to it. That girl didn't even have a passport. I truly don't recognize her and I thank God I don't.<br />
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Today, I feel strong. I feel blessed. I feel scared about what I know is ahead for me and my family but I also feel secure in God's will. I no longer am surprised by much. I no longer take things for granted (at least I try not to). I no longer try to hold back. I'm not embarrassed to cry, to openly share about my struggles and to love too much. I figure if it's the worst thing I do, I'm doing ok. Yes, I still stick my foot in my mouth. I also overextend myself which leads to stress and being overwhelmed, but again, I'm a work in progress. I try not to worry about what other people think of me. I try to do the right thing at all times even if it's the unpopular thing to do. I often think about what radical things I would do if I could (if our parents wouldn't kill us, we would move to Florida...) I often think about what I want to do when I grow up because many days I'm pretty convinced I still haven't figured it out. I think about if I should finish my degree, etc. and I figured that this would be a good forum to get all of those thoughts out. No one may read it and that's completely good with me. I just need to write. It's definitely time I stop silencing the voice. Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-18258067504726322642012-06-20T18:04:00.002-07:002012-06-20T18:04:47.946-07:00Then &AgainToday, I had a really good day. It could have been really bad but I discovered something today that I really think I am going to love.<br />
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My friend Natalie recently starting working at a cool store in Hendersonville called <a href="http://www.facebook.com/brea.freeman?ref=tn_tnmn#!/MyThenAndAgain">Then & Again</a>. She actually went in to check it out and ended up getting a job all in the same day. She immediately called to tell me how cool the store was. I decided that on her first day I was going to stop by and wish her well and check it out, so I did. I FELL IN LOVE. They sell this amazing paint called <a href="http://www.anniesloan.com/">Annie Sloan Chalk Paint </a>and the whole store is filled with items that either the owner, Dawn, or her consignors have painted using this paint (there's lots of cool other stuff there as well). <br />
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When Natalie told me about a class they were offering on June 20th, I walked up front to sign up without realizing it was $150. Now, I don't know about you, but we live on a budget and don't just have $150 laying around, but I knew I had to do it. I was drawn to it. I wrote the check, called the hubs to apologize, and anxiously awaited today. <br />
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My sweet mother in law came and got the kids and I got my first real break since school ended. I actually got to eat breakfast by myself and arrived at the store at 9am. We got right to work as Dawn and her lovely assistant, Michelle, told us the history of Annie Sloan and the details on her paint. She has 30 amazing colors and then she sells clear wax which is a must and dark wax (which is basically a stain). We immediately started working on different projects learning painting techniques like tinting, blotting, dragging your brush, etc. I should probably take this moment to tell you that I have never painted anything in my life besides a wall (which I didn't enjoy and didn't do a good job at). Simply, I fell in love. <br />
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I also got a massive migraine that was blinding in my right eye.<br />
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I pressed on, texting my hubby to make an appointment for the doctor but continued to take notes, wax, stain, buff. Oh, I loved it. I loved it when I got to the doctor at 4pm and I had dark stain under my nails and random paint on my fingers. I loved the peace I felt turning a piece of plain old wood into something beautiful. I can't wait to get my paint on tomorrow.<br />
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So...tomorrow I am going to officially paint my first piece. I'll take before and after pictures and I figure even if I mess it up, I only paid $20 for it on <a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2011/12/girlfriends-trading-post.html">Girlfriend's Trading Post</a> (thanks Beth!). I hope if it turns out like I hope, I can refurbish a few pieces that I've picked up at yard sales. <br />
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Yes, I still have the headache, but I figured I should be doing something versus laying in bed so I wanted to blog about my painting experience today. I want to remember the first time I did something I think I am going to love. I'll keep you posted ;)Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-39053835097917469282012-03-28T12:57:00.001-07:002012-05-17T09:06:39.250-07:00Radical<b>Radical</b>-<span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">thoroughgoing</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">extreme,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">especially</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">as</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">regards</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">change</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">from</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">accepted</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">traditional</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">forms:</span> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">radical</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">change</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">in</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">the</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">policy</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">company. </span><br />
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<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">I dig that word. Radical. I'm sure many people have probably thought I was a little "extreme in regards to traditional forms" at different points in my life. Like when I got engaged to Jonathan about 5 weeks after our first date. Or how about when we found out at 22 weeks that I was having identical twins. Yep, pretty radical. I'm sure it was definitely an adjective used when we announced we were adopting another kid in 2007 and there's no doubt it was muttered again when we did it again just 19 months later. Yes, it can be used to describe parts of my life, but is it really who I am?</span><br />
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<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">Who I am? I've thought about that a lot the last few weeks. Over the past year and a half, I have struggled with the pits of depression. It's been bad. I look back over those last 18 months and often wonder who I was during that period as I know for me, I was even a stranger to myself. I faced a lot of dark days and made a lot of bad decisions, but I also learned so much about myself and I literally fought my way back. And it was a hard fight. Talk to someone who is real with you about depression and has really struggled and they will tell you that it's probably the hardest thing they have ever done. For someone like me that is totally a "glass half full" kind of gal, the fact that the glass looked empty and dirty for 18 months truly sucked. Depression is a very isolating disease. You don't want anyone to know what you are dealing with, how you really feel and you certainly don't want to be any more of a burden on someone when you already feel like the biggest pain to begin with. Satan can truly make you think that everyone is better off without you, that your mistakes are actually your successes, and that you will never get better. I'm proud to say I told Satan to stick it and I proved him wrong. </span><br />
<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;"><br /></span><br />
<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">What did I learn through the process? Well, first and foremost, I learned that I seriously think every person should be required to see a therapist at least once in their life. I found an amazing one that helped me get to the roots of what made me be depressed. She gave me tools to deal with the anxiety that weren't medication. She loved me for me and didn't judge. Second, I learned to stop feeling guilty about taking meds. I was convinced that if my relationship with Christ was more firmly rooted, I wouldn't be depressed and yet as my therapist put it, "would you argue with a diabetic because they had to take insulin?" Third, I've learned that although it seemed so daunting 5 months ago, I'm ok with talking about it. It's part of who I am and to be quite honest, I seriously think it's made me really put things back into perspective. Christ first, marriage second, family third, friends fourth. It's made me realize that no matter what kind of house I live in, no matter what kind of car I drive, and no matter what kind of clothes I wear, my JOY comes from the Lord, not in physical things in this world. </span><br />
<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;"><br /></span><br />
<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">I think that last statement has totally scared my husband to death. You see, I'm the free spirit in the relationship. AKA: I like to shop and spend money, a lot. I also tend to have hoarding tendencies with some things and yet purge things others might deem important. A few weeks ago, it's like a light switch was flipped. Not that I cared much what people thought of me before, but now, I REALLY don't care. I just want us to focus on what's important and shed the not so important stuff. I've started cutting back my spending, like big time. I've starting looking at the big picture on things that I used to not think about. I've started being more real, not only with myself but hopefully with those around me. I'm tired of being chained to depression and I'm determined to live a radical life that is centered on my relationship with Christ.</span><br />
<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;"><br /></span><br />
<span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">There you have it...probably one of the main reasons I haven't blogged and honestly, I don't know that I will from this point forward except a few random posts a few times a year. I'm excited about the possibilities in front of our family. I'm excited to be at a point mentally, physically, and financially that our family is able to jump into what HE has in store for us. I'm excited for the ride ahead. I'm excited to be radical again.</span><br />
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<span class="ital-inline"><span id="hotword"> </span></span></div>Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-50080922267426858942011-12-03T08:13:00.001-08:002011-12-03T08:45:58.633-08:00Girlfriend's Trading PostIn my pursuit to write something each day, I find myself struggling with topics. I was so used to writing about adoption that I thought when that part of our life seemed to be ending, I wouldn't have anything left to say. Part of me thinks that was probably a little bit of Satan's influence. I also realize that at times, it was hard to have so many people knowing your business. I have a hard time sugar coating things, but sometimes the realness is great to put down but hard to be asked about. Many times when I wrote, I felt like I was writing to myself, not realizing how many people read it. Then, when someone in public would question me about something I had written, I would be shocked...that someone read it, that someone cared, that someone had more questions.<br />
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I will never forget getting into an elevator in Nashville and a lady smiling at me. I thought, "oh, she's in a good mood" As I turned around to press the floor I was going to, she said, "your the adventures of breagirl lady, I love your blog" Yeah, it was creepy. Kind of nice, but creepy.<br />
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Anyhoo, in my pursuit to start writing again, I've decided to share my perspective on random things until I get back into the habit of writing each day. My sweet MIL Barbara is really encouraging me to write stories about Joshua, but I don't want to neglect the other kids (trust me, writing about Joshua is a full time job) but I might throw a few of those in there from time to time. For now though, I'll be writing random stuff. So here's my random topic of the day:<br />
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Girlfriends Trading Post<br />
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Now, I've been on facebook for a while. I've been on many boards where people sell stuff (<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-and-Used-Gymboree-Consignment/141345792596943">New and Used Gymboree</a>, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MJAddicts">Matilda Jane Addicts</a>, and many other random ones). This was the first time I was on one for people who buy and sell stuff in the city where I live, Hendersonville. At first, I was honestly a little shocked at the concept because I felt like it could directly impact a lot of local businesses (consignment sales, used furniture stores, etc) and then you start to realize that people are going to use it whether you like it or not, so I started paying attention. I even started selling a few things. That's when I realized these women (including me) are nuts. Seriously insane (I say this with a smile on my face). So, here's the scoop on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/gftpost/">Girlfriends Trading Post</a>.<br />
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Created by a friend of mine at church, she was looking for a way for local families to be able to buy, sell and trade stuff here in our area. Dealing with craigslist and ebay can sometimes be a nightmare, especially having people come to your home that you really don't know. She solved all those issues with this group. So far, I have only bought one thing, which I can't mention as they are Christmas gifts for my kids, but I have been selling like a fool the last few days. I've never seen stuff sell so quick in my life...and at great prices.<br />
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My husband is convinced you could crap in a bag and someone would buy it on there. I've seen people list cars, furniture, coupons, clothing...I'm pretty sure if you have it in your home, someone has one or wants one on GTP. Now, here's the best parts. The meet ups. Target has become THE go to spot for doing the "exchange". I get tickled when I am running to Target and see 30 cars at the outer limits of the parking lot with their trunks open. It seriously looks like these women are doing some major drug trafficking in the parking lot. Can't you picture these ladies in trench coats peddling watches that are underneath?<br />
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The few times I have met up, this is typically how the exchange goes. Yes, we know what the other person is driving, but we still question, "could this be them?" You smile at the other person, hoping to get a warm response and then you do this, "are you the one with the Christmas lights?" mime. I'm sure it's hysterical to someone watching. Pop the trunk, check out the goods, exchange the goods for cash (exact change please) and drive away with a few extra bucks. I typically drive straight to Starbucks to unload at least $5 of what I just made on a drink and my other new passion, the cranberry bliss bar.<br />
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<br />Man, that thing is good. Really, really good. And, they are only available from November until January. It's a very exciting day for me when those suckers come out. They are the reason I will soon be selling my size 8 jeans on GTP because I will have gained so much weight.<br />
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Well, that's my rambling for the day. Be sure you check out the trading post and beware, you'll start to sell so much stuff, you might just sell off your hubby or children :)<br />
<br />Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-10401915559686615122011-12-01T17:17:00.001-08:002011-12-02T14:22:33.698-08:00Fast CarYou got a fast car<br />
But is it fast enough so you can fly away<br />
You gotta make a decision<br />
You leave tonight or live and die this way<br />
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Man, every time I hear this song, it brings back memories. Memories of cruising Rivergate mall in my friend Cheryl's VW bug convertible singing at the top of our lungs, memories of listening to this song on "Love Songs" on the radio and wishing I could get away from the most recent boyfriend who had broke my heart, memories of being in college and having this on a mixed tape, yes tape.<br />
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So, this is Angie V. For those old schoolers to this blog, she has been mentioned before. A lot. We've been friends since I was 19 years old. We met at a Barbie collectors meeting. Yep, Barbies. I had a collecting bug when I was around 16 and that was when Holiday Barbies were THE thing that people lined up Toys R Us to buy. My sweet Granny was one of those ladies who fought to get me the holiday doll each year. Now as a parent, I personally don't line up for anything, but I truly appreciated that she did that for me. <br />
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When a local collectibles store announced in 1999 that they were going to start a club for people that collected Barbies, I was in. I was the first person at the meeting and was a nervous wreck. I knew NO ONE. Now, anyone that knows me knows I don't have a problem talking to anyone, even a wall, but I will admit looking back I was NERVOUS. As people started filing in, I became even more nervous as no one was sitting near me. I felt like the kid who is last to be picked in gym.<br />
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Well, guess who was late? Yep, Angie V. Guess where the only seat in the whole room was left? I bet you've figured it out. Neither one of us realized we would become the best of friends when we met that night. Neither one of us realized that she would be there when Granny died, when I had each of my children, that she would be at the airport when we stepped off the plane with Joshua. We also didn't realize I would be there when she lost her mom, Ms. Pat three years ago yesterday.<br />
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I'll never forget that day. We had just hung up from a quick chat (which we typically did about 6 times a day) and I had just kissed Jonathan goodbye as he ran to the store for milk. He got in the car and pulled away when the phone rang again. Looking at caller id, I saw it was Angie and laughed because I knew in our typical fashion, she had forgotten to tell me something. When I answered the phone with a "what did you forget!", I'll never forget her voice when she said, frantically, "Brea, I think my mom is dead"<br />
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When I think back to that night, those next few days, watching Angie struggle through the shock of loosing her sweet mother, I am reminded of how much I wanted to take my friend's pain away. I almost wished I could take Ms. Pat's place so that I didn't have to see the pain in everyone's eyes. I felt guilty missing her when I knew my pain of missing her was nothing compared to the grief Angie felt. And every time, I think of it, I think of Angie's voice saying it over and over again. Here's a picture of Ms. Pat along with Angie and her sisters, Margaret and Lisa<br />
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On November 20th, it happened again.<br />
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I grew up with Chris. We met when he transferred to our high school. He instantly became part of our group of friends and I was so excited when he starting dating my best friend since 6th grade, Kim. Chris' home instantly became the hang out spot. Someone in our group was always dating someone in his circle of guy friends, so we would hang out at his house, the guys playing pool downstairs and all the girls piled up in Chris' mom's bed. Sandra, Chris' mom, wanted to know everything about us. She wanted to know who we hung out with and why, who we were dating and why, where we were in our relationship with Christ. I bit my nails (have since I was 2) and I remember she always wore press on nails that she painted bright red.<br />
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After Jonathan and I married, we actually bought some property from Ms. Sandra that was right next to her home. We built our second house there. Anna would be playing outside and Sandra would walk over to chat. Anna says she remembers just swinging with Sandra in Sandra's back yard. She loved my children and still loved me. I remember sitting on her bed a few years after we married, answering the same questions: how was my marriage, how many children we wanted and so much more. She truly was interested and listened. Thinking back, I realize that back in high school, sometimes I think Ms. Sandra knew more about me than my own mother. Here's Chris with Sandra (man, I love this pic)<br />
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Here's Laura with Sandra:<br />
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Here's some fun pictures of Kim and I. Yes, the first is from eighth grade (I think). Second is from our awesome trip to see NKOTB in Chicago:<br />
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As years have gone by, I've actually developed a very sweet friendship with Chris' younger sister, <a href="http://pitterpatterart.wordpress.com/">Laura</a>. When she and her hubby Josh decided they wanted to add to their family through adoption, she called me. As we talked adoption, we also became friends. Sweet friends. It was nice to find someone as crazy as me that got adoption, especially transracial adoption. As time went on, I don't think I ever told Sandra what her children meant to me. I wish I had. I think she probably knew.<br />
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November 11th, Sandra was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor. After a successful surgery four days later, things looked promising and Sandra was even moved to start therapies on Saturday, the 19th. On Sunday, the phone rang. I had been asleep with a migraine and had just woke up. As the phone rang, Jonathan told me something was going on with Sandra but he hadn't wanted to wake me. I saw that it was Kim and immediately asked her "what is going on with Sandra?" Kim said, "Brea, she died" in the faintest whisper. I was stunned. stunned. As I asked her what happened, I just couldn't believe this was happening. Sandra had a blood clot that took her very quickly. Chris and Laura's mom was gone.<br />
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Again, as I watched their faces over the next few days, I immediately wanted to take away their pain. I can't explain how it feels to be a friend watching your dear friends suffer. It didn't then and it still doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible that at 34 and 29 years old, Chris and Laura have lost their mother. Even as I type this, I'm not sure how long it will take for it to sink in. Again, I feel guilty missing her knowing that it sounds so silly when I know that I can't hold a candle to how much they miss her. I want to heal their hearts, I want their mom back.<br />
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It also makes me question how people go through a loss like this without faith. As I watched Kim, Chris and Laura at the funeral home, it really struck me at how strong they were. Yes, they are SO sad and miss her so much, but their strength can only be provided as something God given. Watching them process this grief, it has reminded me so much of what is truly important.<br />
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As I spent some time with Laura yesterday, I was once again reminded that the stuff of this world is just not important. As she, Angie V and I talked over lunch, it struck me how much both of them reminded me of their mothers. I know both Ms. Pat and Ms. Sandra would be so incredibly proud of their children and how they have processed their losses.<br />
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All that to say, I will remember so many things about those days right after Sandra died, but I will never forget Kimberly's voice when she called. The impact her beautiful voice would have on me. How much I would hurt for my friends. How much it would remind me of Angie loosing Ms. Pat. How much it would put my life back in perspective.<br />
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Laura encouraged me to write again, and I think it's time. It's time to start putting my thoughts down into something tangible, if for no other reason, so my kids can look back and see what an insane nut I was. I hope my kids speak the beautiful words that Chris and Laura spoke about their mother last week, "Well done, Mom, well done" <br />
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You got a fast car<br />
But is it fast enough so you can fly away<br />
You gotta make a decision<br />
You leave tonight or live and die this way<br />
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<br />Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-42389575024072023832011-11-10T10:53:00.000-08:002011-11-10T10:56:24.852-08:00RefreshingMy friend <a href="http://www.pitterpatterart.wordpress.com/">Laura</a> reference this blog on facebook today:<a href="http://www.livingdevotionally.com/2011/11/my-struggle-with-being-a-stay-at-home-mom/">http://www.livingdevotionally.com/2011/11/my-struggle-with-being-a-stay-at-home-mom/</a> <a href="http://www.livingdevotionally.com/2011/11/my-struggle-with-being-a-stay-at-home-mom/"></a> and I have to say it's one of the most refreshing posts I've read in a while.<br />
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I spent a lot of time in the word this weekend, thinking and praying about the path my life is on. There are so many things that came to mind and I thought I would share a few with you:<br />
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1. Friendships: I find myself looking at the people I surround myself with and trying to figure out what God commands of us in these relationships. I want to be surrounded by people who are real and have the same values as me. I find that even though I don't mind confrontation, many times I am a total pushover and maybe don't speak my mind when I disagree with something simply because I don't have the energy to confront. I really want to get back to the basics of finding true, God centered relationships. The Lord has put many people in my path that are just that for me, but many times I think I get watered down on surface friends which in turn makes me slack on those true friendships. It's something I'm committed to working on.<br />
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2. My marriage: Jonathan is such a wonderful man, but I know I have seriously taken him for granted the last few years. With all the changes of selling the consignment sale, starting a new business, dealing with some emotional issues, etc. he has constantly been right there holding my hand and yet I have totally taken it for granted. Like the blog post above, I find that many times, I am so exhausted by life that at the end of the day, he is the one in the kitchen cooking dinner just so I can have some peace and quiet and not hear "mommy!" for 30 minutes. As I look around, I realize that this is so rare and I need to appreciate it more.<br />
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3. My children: I find that sometimes I spend more time being frustrated with them that I rob them of joy in the little things. I want to be more committed to getting down in the floor and playing with them, turning off the tv, and teaching them. No, I have no interest in home schooling, but I can still teach them by reading to them more, singing, and doing some fun worksheets and working on art. It's not that I totally neglect it, but I do certainly look forward to mother's day out and naptime more than I probably should.<br />
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4. My family: Again, this is an area that I struggle with in time management. I was thinking the other day about how little I've seen my sweet nephew, Baden. He's already 6 months old and I feel like I have missed so much. I need to make more time to just sit down with them.<br />
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5. Giving: Although we tithe like clockwork, sponsor a ton of kids internationally, etc., I think some of this has just become "habit". I want to make an effort to do something out of the box if for no other reason to teach our children. It's time to stop filling our house with stuff and getting back to the basics. We are doing some serious fall cleaning and I hope to literally be able to show the kids how giving stuff away truly impacts others.<br />
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So that's where I am right now...I know I will continue to struggle but it helps to have some accountability partners to remind me when I am slipping backwards instead of stepping forward.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-60392116580983930342011-10-24T08:50:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:50:21.560-07:00What are YOU doing this weekend?I think most of you know that I constantly have my hands in about 3 million different projects. I can't stand to sit still and I love a good challenge.
That's why Candy and I started buying out children's boutiques a few years ago. At first, we were just buying out overstock from local children's boutiques and then word of mouth spread and suddenly, we were picking up overstock from boutiques all over the U.S. Then the economy went into the crapper and lots of our favorite stores closed their doors because suddenly high end children's clothing was not at the top of anyone's list of priorities. It forced Candy and I to reevaluate if we would continue buying and if so, at what price. At that point, we started buying Gymboree and people at the sales really seemed to love that. A few weeks ago, a great opportunity fell into our lap and we couldn't resist. $97,000 of high end boutique children's clothing. We were pumped until it arrived 7 days after we planned meaning we didn't have time to get it tagged for Encores North. So, here we sit with 2 huge pallets of children's clothing that we don't want to sit on.
We tossed around a few ideas and decided that ultimately we wanted to give our friends the first opportunity to shop it. Candy works full time and I have the crew so we couldn't figure out the best way to do this and that's when we decided to do another yard sale. You see, three years ago when we were in the process of adopting our fifth child, we had this amazing yard sale where we sold all this new with tag boutique clothing for one set price. It went amazingly well!
So, we are doing it again. This Saturday, October 29th from 7am-2pm we are having a MASSIVE yard sale. We will have random crap like any yard sale, but we will also have over 1000 pieces of new with tags children's boutique clothing. The best part? It's all $5 per piece. Yep, $5. Dress? $5. Pants? $5. 3 Piece Set? $15. There are some amazing deals here. Boys and girls, mainly sizes 2T-girls 16 and boys 20. Brands like ELand, Trish Scully, Baby Lulu, SPUDZ, Le Top, etc. etc. It is a mix of all seasons, but definitely heavier on Spring/Summer.
Want to be the first to shop? We need LOTS of help this week. We are trying to get everything on hangers, organized, and ready to sell. Our goal is to have everything organized by sex and size on racks so it will be easy to shop. It will be held in my driveway and garage and although it will be cold, it will be worth it, I promise. I'll be updating this throughout the week with pics, so definitely check and TELL YOUR FRIENDS! We want this stuff GONE so our men will not be mad that our garages are FULL! More details to come, but get ready to get your shop on :)Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-52664894150051733582011-10-21T12:48:00.000-07:002011-10-21T12:48:20.599-07:00No Promises...I've been doing a lot of thinking and soul searching the last few weeks. A lot has changed for me in the last year and many events forced me to put a lot of things on the back burner, but recently, I've been trying to gain some perspective and putting the truly important stuff first. The stuff that brings me joy.<br />
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When I used to blog a lot, it was mainly about adoption which is something I am still very passionate about, but I sort of relate it to this: when the twins were born, I found a ton of support through the multiples club as no one else truly got it like other moms of multiples. Then, one day you realize that clubs like that aren't really necessary anymore because they stop being "twins" so much and become two individual people who have their own voices and can decide what they want to wear. The friendships I made around the twins have continued to this day, but my need for a social outlet only for other twin/triplet moms definitely left as they got older. The same with adoption. The friendships I have made while going through the process two times are lifelong friendships, many of which, I can't imagine not having in my life, but I cherish those relationships now because they are amazing women and we have adoption in common, not that we sit around and only talk adoption.<br />
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So, that brings me back to my blog. I think for some time I didn't want to blog anymore because I didn't have something earth shattering to say about adoption, but as I have really focused more on what's important, I think it might be time to step back in this arena and talk about my life in general. I have a lot of stories, laughs, pics, etc. to share and I'm just making sure that by saying I am going to start blogging again, it's not something on my ever growing list that I don't follow through on. <br />
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What have I been doing the last year? Well, raising kids. Anna turned 13 in September which officially means we both want to kill each other pretty much non-stop. I am very thankful that she truly is a good girl with great values and an awesome relationship with the Lord, but every time I see her roll her eyes at me when I tell her to do something, I'm reminded that it's totally payback from how I treated my mom (who also probably wanted to kill me). Isaac and Luke are getting ready to be 10. Watching the 10 year anniversary of 9/11 brought back so many memories of me being on bed rest and watching in horror what was going on in the world around us. Both boys play basketball and love art and wear a size 7 men's shoe. Yep, they are going to be giants!<br />
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Mary Elizabeth turned 4 in August. She has enough personality to fill a gym and J and I always laugh how "everybody knows Mary" She makes anyone smile with her toothy grin, pink glasses and sassy outfits. She loves playing pretend with anyone who pays her attention. Just last week, Joshua had her on a pretend leash telling her to lap up her water from a water bowl (actually a tupperware container he had somehow gotten out of the cabinets that are child locked). She loves going to mothers day out 2 days a week. Joshua turned 2 in May. I'm not sure there are adequate words to describe him except to say the boy has my heart and although he makes me want to scream every day, one look with those beautiful eyes or him simply saying "love u mommy" makes me melt. Hands down, he is the wildest of the bunch and can make anyone laugh.<br />
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J and I celebrated 14 years of marriage in June. FOURTEEN. Sometimes I don't feel like I am 14, much less that I've been married that long. We joke with people and tell them "can you believe it, we actually STILL like each other" The best part? It's true. We have so much fun together and it's nice to go to bed next to your soul mate and best friend each night.<br />
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As for me, well, lots has changed for me. I sold my business, contemplated going back to college (still thinking on that one) and started a new business. I am now working for an amazing company called <a href="www.matildajaneclothing.com">Matilda Jane Clothing</a>. I had been buying their clothing for Anna and Mary Elizabeth for years and when my amazing boss asked if I might be interested in working for them, I prayed about it for a few days, God gave me an amazing sign, and I signed on the dotted line. I can't say enough great things about the company. Now, don't get me wrong, I love the product otherwise I wouldn't be selling it, but the people that make up Matilda Jane is what makes me truly passionate about my new job. The owners are awesome and very hands on with us. They truly want us to be successful and yet want to keep it an intimate, hands on type of an event for the customer. They don't want Matilda Jane to be a household name which I love. It's a very unpredictable company, but as consistent as they come and everyone working there has had my best interests at heart. I've already made some great friendships with my fellow trunk keepers and I intend to do this as long as the Lord will allow me to.<br />
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I guess that gets you up to speed on our life. We still don't have a dog (and momma doesn't want one), we still fall into bed each night dead dog tired and we still anticipate what's next for our crew, but we know who's in control and that's all that matters. <br />
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I hope to keep this going, but no promises...Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-61052306130445965462011-03-23T14:16:00.000-07:002011-03-23T14:16:34.667-07:00School DaysI've recently been thinking about going back to college to complete my degree. The thought of being the adult in the classroom actually makes me a little sick, simply because I remember how mean the "young adults" were to them. <br />
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When I graduated from high school, I had one thing on my mind: volleyball. I played in high school and LOVED it. When I got offered scholarships for academics AND volleyball, it was a no brainer. I was going 2 1/2 hours away from home to continue playing the sport I loved.<br />
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I was a little, shall we say, sheltered growing up. Being away from home offered me all the freedom I thought I wanted, but it also offered all the opportunities to try all the things I had never really done: drinking, going out, etc. I played my heart out when it came to volleyball, but I also drank myself to death and got involved in a relationship that was not the smartest decision. By the end of freshman year, I had lost my academic scholarship, was heartbroken, and felt like I didn't know who I was. <br />
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I spent the next two years college hopping. I went to Western KY and then came back home after I got married to J and went to Vol State. My grades drastically improved, but when I found out I was pregnant with Anna, school became the last thing I was worried about and I quit after my junior year.<br />
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Now, knowing that in 5 short years, Anna will be heading off to college, I worry that she might try to use me as an excuse to not go. I can literally hear her now saying, "that's so not far, mom didn't finish college and she turned out fine." I also worry that it could end up costing us a small fortune for me to finish and ultimately, I'm not even sure what I'll do with a degree. Secretly, I've been thinking for years about going back to school to become a nurse, but I know that's a HUGE undertaking and with having small kids at home, I'm not sure our family is ready for that.<br />
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So, that's where I am right now in regards to school. I'm just going to continue praying about where God wants me and hope that some doors or answers reveal themselves pretty soon.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-50271883380900099102011-03-21T19:40:00.000-07:002011-03-21T19:42:36.901-07:00Tomorrow's Another DayI could start off by telling you all the reasons I haven't blogged in a while, but I figure rather than boring you with all that stuff, I'm just going to start fresh. <br />
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Today, I woke up and felt refreshed. renewed. energized. excited. You see, there are big changes coming for our family in my area of work and although some aspects of it do make me sad, this is definitely a positive change for our family. It's a decision we've been praying over for years and finally felt the time was right about 6 months ago to make a change. We took a leap of faith knowing that many wouldn't understand and the big news will be revealed by the end of next week. <br />
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I'm a little nervous about everyone's response and I'm praying that rather to jumping to conclusions, people will feel comfortable enough to come to me and talk about the changes versus starting rumors and stirring the pot. I'm praying that others will be able to see what a positive thing this is for our family. I'm praying that people will see that it was time to focus on our family more so than everyone else. <br />
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That's really a tough one for me, as I typically put myself dead last. I'm definitely a giver and would prefer someone else's happiness over my own. That's what I struggle with the most...that this decision will seem selfish and yet I realize that it was time to put myself and our family first.<br />
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All that to say, I'm not sure what tomorrow is going to bring career wise. I know that today I enjoyed just hanging with my kiddos. We went to lunch with daddy and went to Best Buy to buy a new vacuum. We played with sticks in the front yard and ate messy snacks. I didn't answer the phone one time today if it had anything to do with business. And it was good.<br />
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Tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirty anyway, so bring on the rain. Trust me, I'm ready.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-51017022345965336932010-09-20T20:50:00.000-07:002010-09-20T20:50:10.503-07:00Adoption: The Child's StoryI was recently talking with a fellow adoptive mom (who just also happens to be a great friend) and the topic of sharing your adopted child's story with others came up. I guess because we are friends, we know the story behind our children's adoptions. You know, the things like where they were born, the reason their birthparents decided to form an adoption plan, etc. She asked me if I shared this with everyone or just with family and close personal friends? It prompted me to write this post.<br />
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I feel like my children's story is just that: it's THEIR story. It's really no ones business and if I choose to share it with family and very close friends, I feel like that is ok...but a random stranger I meet in a grocery store? Absolutely not. And let's not kid ourselves...I've been asked by complete strangers. Now I know you are probably reading this thinking, "no way", but yes, I've been asked things like "was she a crack baby?" or "why didn't his mom want him?" by complete strangers.<br />
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So, I'll start there.<br />
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If you learn nothing more from this blog, PLEASE don't ask someone you don't know that well the story behind their child's adoption and PLEASE don't be so idiotic to make statements like "why didn't his mom want him?" Questions like that personally make me want to vomit, and they make my blood pressure go to stroke level when some silly question is asked in front of my older kids because even though the babies may not understand you, my 11 year old and 8 year olds do. And guess what? When we get in the car, the first thing they are going to ask me is why my son's mom (who they know) didn't want him. Or what a crack baby is.<br />
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If you happen to be an adoptive parent reading this, I strongly encourage you to really think about what you are sharing with anyone and everyone about your child's story. Although I believe most people probably mean well, you have to think about what will happen down the road when someone could possibly say to your child, "you are so lucky your mom and dad saved you from a life of XYZ." <br />
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Yes, it's each of our decision to share what we want to, but for us, there are some things that are better to be shared only with the child. If my adopted children want to share their story one day when they are old enough to fully comprehend, that will be their choice, but until then...it's their story.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-30747199491248014022010-09-06T18:01:00.000-07:002010-09-06T18:01:19.229-07:00Adoption: Meant to Be?I recently stumbled on a blog post where the author was talking about adoption and how it was meant to be that her children came to her through adoption. I'm actually a little mad at myself because I have no clue how I found this post, and honestly as I read it, it didn't really stir up a lot of emotion in me at the time. Then, I dreamed about it that night and I have spent the last week waking up at different intervals during the night (because of my abdominal pain) and that blog post (or at least the ideas behind it) have been one of the first thoughts to pop in my mind.<br />
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Were our adoptions meant to be?<br />
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I'm not sure how I can honestly answer that question and get all the things I WANT to say into a coherent post, but this is the analogy that comes to mind.<br />
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A person is in kidney failure. They are going to die if they don't get a kidney. They desperately want a kidney, might even be a little angry with God that the body that he created for them doesn't work properly and secretly wish that someone else would give them a kidney. One day, they get a surprise phone call....a woman was killed in a car wreck, but was an organ donor and her kidney is a match. Was that meant to be? Was it meant to be that she had to die to save your life?<br />
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In my mind, it's sort of the same way with adoption. Some couples just can't have babies. Some women can't find the right man but desperately want children. Some people (like us) have just always talked about adoption and it just seemed like the next logical stop to pursue after years of planning and prayer. But does that mean that it was "meant to be" when we do adopt that child.<br />
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Are our adopted children the loves of our life? Are we completely joyous that they are now our children? YES!<br />
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I think God intended for all children to be with their parents. It's unnatural to take a child away from his mother. And yet, in reality, it happens. Parents can't take care of their child because of financial, emotional, and a whole other hosts of reasons. Heck, some parents just don't want to do it. This leads to many things, one of which being the option of adoption. <br />
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I guess my feeling is that it was meant to be that we weren't supposed to sin from the beginning, but eating that fruit from the tree landed us here at the crossroads of so many people in the adoption triad arguing about issues like this. Who's right? Who's wrong? Is it all so black and white?<br />
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Here's what I know: I don't personally buy into the whole "they are better off" when a child is adopted, because let's face it...they aren't. They would be better off to be parented by the natural parents in the country they are born in. They would be better off if things like drugs didn't interfere with their parents raising them or health crisis like AIDS didn't kill their father. They would be better off if they had three warm meals a day. They would better off to live with their natural family who loved them than to ever have to deal with the unnatural loss they will eventually feel. And yes, all adoptees will deal with loss at some point, because they have lost a relationship with parents that God intended to occur. <br />
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So, meant to be...yeah, I don't buy it. Am I incredibly blessed to have two amazing children that I didn't give birth to? YES! But in a perfect world, the loss that occurs with adoption wouldn't exist. There wouldn't be children in orphanages waiting for their families, there wouldn't be a black mother in OH not having enough choices of adoptive families for her child, and there certainly wouldn't be all the older "unadoptable" children praying someone will find value in them sitting in foster homes. <br />
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I just don't want either of my children's firstmoms to ever think that the sole reason they carried their child was for me. It just seems so selfish on my part. Am I thankful they choose us? Yes! But for my children's sake, I wish both of their mother's situation was different so that they didn't have to make the difficult decision that they did.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-14566044417343292892010-09-02T19:16:00.000-07:002010-09-02T19:16:45.742-07:00Creepy PeopleThis blog post is to all the nutjobs I have encountered in the last 24 hours in my doctor's office waiting room. In the last day, I have successfully had an ultrasound, bloodwork, an exam and a CT scan with contrast. Since each of these events were independent of each other, that means I have sat in a total of four waiting rooms in the last 24 hours of my life. <br />
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I guess it would be different if I felt good, but I've got some pain so I haven't been my normal happy go lucky self which could explain why the insane behavior I witnessed literally grated on my last nerve.<br />
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It all started yesterday when I went for an ultrasound. I knew I was going to need to bite my tongue the minute the LOUD couple entered the waiting room. He was old and gross and she was very pregnant. I'm guessing she wasn't a very bright woman because she was with Mr. Old and Gross. They brought their precious little 18 month old demon with them who Mr. Old and Gross referred to as Mr. Junior the whole time I was waiting. "UH OH, I THINK MR. JUNIOR HAS POOPED HIS PANTS," Mr. Old and Gross said loudly. Really? I couldn't tell from the foul smell that was filling the room as precious little Mr. Junior ran all over. "MOMMA, I THINK MR. JUNIOR HAS A GIFT FOR YOU IN HIS DIAPER," he continued to LOUDLY proclaim. I was just wondering why Mr. Old and Gross wouldn't just go change Mr. Junior....but he didn't. <br />
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While I continued to wait, a very attractive black woman came into the waiting room and sat next to me. She quickly buried her head into a magazine (probably to keep from gagging on the poop smell) and about that time Mr. Old and Gross picked up a copy of People magazine with Sandra Bullock on the cover. "WHY DO YOU THINK SHE HAD TO GO AND ADOPT A BLACK KID?" Mr. Old and Gross asked his wife/girlfriend/incubator. "Well, honey, I'm sure cause they are easier to get and cheaper," she replied. I wanted to kill them. Literally. At that moment they called me back, and I seriously thanked the ultrasound technician for getting me out of hell. "Oh no, what happened," she asked. I told her she would be finding out soon enough because the LOUD couple were up after me. Lucky girl.<br />
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My next visit was to the exam today. That waiting room was pretty normal. Following my exam, it was time for bloodwork. Yep, another waiting room. I've actually had bloodwork drawn at this location before, so I already knew they keep the prep room open and you wait right outside the door. What I didn't expect to see was the poor girl getting her blood drawn RIGHT INSIDE THE DOOR. Ewww. I mean seriously, shut the freaking door peeps. And I guess I should say, attempting to get her blood drawn, as they COULD NOT GET A VEIN. I waited for 30 minutes and I personally watched them stick her 9 times and who knows how long they had been going before I got there. They had to tell her to come back tomorrow so the poor girl who looked like a pin cushion at this point left without even giving up the goods. I should have realized at this point that it was a SIGN of things to come. They were able to get blood from me on the first stick, so I was quickly out of there. <br />
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Next, it was on to a CT scan at Baptist Hospital. After waiting for a few minutes and enjoying a 2 year old Southern Living in an empty waiting room, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN things were not going to be good when the tech brought in a Route 44 size vanilla shake for me to drink before my scan. Yeah, I don't like vanilla. At all. "Drink it quick," she said. "You have to wait 90 minutes after you drink it to start the scan." Lovely. I slurped down the Route 44 nastiness and settled in with my magazine wishing I had brought a book. That's when the cute little old couple walked in to my quiet, empty waiting room. "Aren't they a sweet little couple," I thought to myself. <br />
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Then she pulled out the nail clippers.<br />
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I will take this moment to tell you I. CAN'T. STAND. THE. SOUND. OF. SOMEONE. ELSE. CUTTING. THEIR. NAILS. Not even my cute little hubby or my precious little angel children. I'm a little sick just thinking of the sound while I type this.<br />
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She proceeded to trim ALL HER OLD FINGERNAILS and let the clippings fall to the floor. She even stood up at the end to let the loose trimmings in her lap fall to the floor. I tried really hard to snap a pic of this on my phone without being caught, but it just wasn't possible, because as I said....we were the only ones in the room. At this point, the vanilla monster I had just inhaled was making me feel sick, the waiting room was freezing and I just wanted to get the heck out of dodge.<br />
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Finally, Art called me back. Art was a cute little man who told me he'd been doing CT scans for 33 years. I hop on the table (that's a lie, I laid down on the table like the old, hurting woman that I am) and Art told me he needed to start an IV to run the contrast. No problem. "I have great veins," I tell Art. I was wrong. I don't know what happened between my happy little lab stick and the CT scan, but I guess all my veins decided to have a little party and got too tired to stick out. Art COULD NOT find a vein. He finally found one on his fourth attempt. <br />
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So, here I am with still no answers on what is wrong with me, enough bandaids on my arms you would think I've been in war, and some great stories from the creepy people in the waiting rooms. Can't wait to see what tomorrow is like!Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-24077364485112832512010-09-02T07:37:00.000-07:002010-09-02T07:37:57.285-07:00Been a "little" busySo, yeah, life the last few months has been nuts. We've officially wrapped up another consignment sale, Anna broke her ankle during the sale and just got her cast off on Tuesday, Mary Elizabeth turned 3 on August 7, Jonathan and I started on a co-ed kickball league, and I injured myself working out on August 28. Needless to say, I'm glad August is over.<br />
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I go to the doctor today to find out if and when I will be having surgery. I'm just praying they can do whatever they need to do without literally cutting me open. I'm not a huge fan of being put to sleep. I don't like not being in control (shocking, I know) and I really don't like not remembering what I say or do as I come out of surgery. Also, I'm a little nervous about not being able to pick up my kids. I love a good bear hug from Josh or dancing around the house with Mary, so the idea of not picking them up for a while pretty much sucks.<br />
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I have a little bit of "new to us" car fever right now. It's not too bad, because as anyone that knows me would attest, if it was really bad car fever, I would have already bought one. I would describe the fever as more of a "weighing my options" type fever. I'm trying to decide if I want to enter the magical world of a mini-van again. Have I finally recognized that driving a swagger wagon that gets better gas mileage might not be as cool looking as my gas sucking Suburban, but it sure is more convenient and cheaper? Plus, the leather on my driver's seat is really cracking and it is itching me to death when I drive so that's sounding like a good reason for a "new to me" car. My friend Jenn has a minivan she calls her swagger wagon, so I've already decided that I like that name and will be naming my "new to me" van Swagger Wagon The Second and calling him/her Deuce. That is, if I buy one. We're looking at Honda Odyssey vans, which is my personal favorite. Do I want one with a DVD player is my next question? We've never had a car with that and honestly, the idea of driving down the road with Caillou blaring makes me want to have a small panic attack even while I type. <br />
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On the car note, I pulled off my best surprise EVER in August. I surprised Jonathan with a Jeep. He had always talked about buying a Jeep "one day" and I decided that there was no time like the present to buy one. I put my dad AKA the jeep master on the job and we found it within a week in Bowling Green, KY on craigslist (are you counting here? this is the third car we have now bought off craigslist) Dad went and picked it up for me, detailed it and brought it down and parked it in the fire lane during the consignment sale. The fire lane was a huge area of contention during the sale because people kept parking in it so we were constantly making announcements for people to move their car so the fire marshall wouldn't show up yelling at us. Jonathan arrived after work to Natalie making the announcement "if you have a white jeep in the fire lane, please come move your car" After making the announcement several times, I handed the key to Jonathan and told him to go move his jeep. His face was priceless. "Whatever" he said. "That's not my Jeep!" He continued to argue with me until I walked outside and got in the Jeep, pulled out the title and showed it. For the next 10 minutes, he drove me around in shock finally asking "how much did you spend?" which I knew was driving him crazy. <br />
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I tell you, the man is in love. I can't tell you how many people have called or emailed to say they have seen Jonathan driving around town and he has a big grin on his face. It has it's own space in the garage, which should tell you how in love he is as NOTHING has ever parked in the garage because it's always so full of crap. He came home that night, cleaned out one side of the garage and she has been parked in there every night since. His big decisions in the morning are things like "do I take the top off today?" My dad even gave him a Jeep shirt which at first he thought was silly, but he now proudly wears every other day. It's cute and I'm glad to see him so thrilled with his new toy. He works really hard for our family and he needs to have something he can tinker with. <br />
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The kids love it too! The boys have already figured out how to grab the bar in the back and swing themselves in. The babies love it too. It made me EXTREMELY nervous the first time they rode in it, but Jonathan promised me they would be securely strapped in their carseats and he was right, they LOVED it. <br />
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So, that's the update on us. I'll keep you posted on surgery, minivans and the other crazy happenings in our life. Until next time...Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-57069953346200371922010-05-26T22:15:00.000-07:002010-05-27T06:17:03.140-07:00Adoption DisruptionIt's all around me and it hurts my heart.<br />
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What is it? disrupting an adoption. This basically means you bring home a child/children and parent those said children for any amount of time before you realize that this might not be a good fit. The child may have some serious health issues you weren't made aware of. The child my have a difficult time attaching to you, the new adoptive family. The child may want to physically harm you or their other siblings (whether biological or adopted).<br />
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I write this to shed some light on it. We have many friends in my different walks of life right now that are unfortunately learning the meaning of that ugly word "disruption." I'm sure it feels no different than having a huge FAILURE stamped on your forehead and yet, until you've walked in their shoes, it's easy to say YOU could deal with the issues they are facing. <br />
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What if you found out your newly adopted child was sexually assualting another child? What if you found out your newly adopted child was full of rage, wanted no part of this life and threatened suicide constantly?<br />
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I feel that God put me in this part of my life to be a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on. I don't understand what disrupting an adoption entails, but I do know that as an adoptive family, you have so many eyes watching you all the time and this must be 10 times worse. <br />
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Adoption is not always sunshine and roses...it most certainly can be, but in the pit of it you find a lot of pain. Pain from a mom who couldn't parent her child and chose a family for him to go live with. Pain as she wonders how her child is doing 6 months from now. Pain in your heart when your adopted child asks you questions you can't answer because the birthmom wanted the adoption closed. Pain when your child begins the search for his birthparents not even knowing if they will even want to meet him. Pain from a child leaving behind his people, his land, his friends to come to the U.S., the land of promise when all he wants is his old home back. <br />
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It's all around me and it hurts my hurt.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-29433622327913638242010-05-26T16:53:00.000-07:002010-05-26T17:05:53.081-07:00Haiti: Part 9 THE FINALEHere's the final installment of Jay's journal to Haiti. He, my hubby J, and five other guys went to Haiti April 26-May 2. If you are just now catching this, you might want to start at the beginning. <br />
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<a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-1-2.html">Haiti: Part 1 & 2</a><br />
<a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-3-4.html">Haiti: Part 3 & 4</a> <br />
<a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-5-6.html">Haiti: Part 5 & 6</a><br />
<a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-7-8.html">Haiti: Part 7 & 8 </a><br />
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Here's Jay, the author, who graciously let me publish this to my blog:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEh1r2Kz_ed61q2r7ElKU6FiDSacOwUG6hSWIpjGeKzmwwTl3HDvN8uD1ejsptQjgs0Nj96dTWM3C3TH2JhlUVmhVIvqQAXAyX5jR8KX_zCiZZQtiDcR6G7wJLjvz-6wmasAxSoi6MpA2i/s1600/jay.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEh1r2Kz_ed61q2r7ElKU6FiDSacOwUG6hSWIpjGeKzmwwTl3HDvN8uD1ejsptQjgs0Nj96dTWM3C3TH2JhlUVmhVIvqQAXAyX5jR8KX_zCiZZQtiDcR6G7wJLjvz-6wmasAxSoi6MpA2i/s320/jay.bmp" /></a></div>Part 9: The flood, the flight, the fight, and the finish.<br />
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It took me a few phone calls to get through to Shantel. I could tell she's upset. "There is a flood." We hadn't watched television or news, or really heard anything about back home in several days. "There is water in our back yard, the kids basketball goal is floating... I've started carrying important things upstairs." Naturally, I figured she was over reacting. Then she sent me pictures. Then the news came in from Nashville. Flooding everywhere. Highways and roads being closed. Shantel couldn't get out of our subdivision. The small creek in our back yard was a giant raging river and the community was surrounded by water. I have never felt so helpless in my entire life. I heard words come from my mouth, "It's just a house. Take care of the girls, you'll be fine." <br />
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The guys all started calling home getting various reports. The biggest flood in Nashville history, cars, and people, and buildings being swept away. While we were at the beach our homes were being threatened. We called friends, and family, and church members. Story after story piled in, and it looked like we would be coming home to a different place. Saturday night we packed up, and knew we would make it to Miami, but had no idea if they would let us back into Nashville.<br />
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By 5:30a on Sunday I was packed and ready to go. One back pack was all I brought home. We opted not to drive the road back to Port Au Prince so we wouldn't miss our flight from Haiti to Miami, and instead were flying a charter plane from Jacmel to Port Au Prince. The Jacmel airport was an over grown driveway with no planes anywhere around. One plane would fly in, pick up passengers and turn around. We were the first people at the "airport." we let ourselves in. A man sleepily showed up at the door of the "airport" (that we never actually walked in) and took down our names and birth dates. About 6:30a a small plane dropped in on the driveway, squeeled to a hault and then turned around. We were on the 15 passenger plane and ready for take off in under 2 minutes. It was a little unnerving to see the pilots hand hanging out the window at the front of the plane. There was no systems check, or refueling, we just rode down the driveway turned around, and then blasted down the "driveway" right at the "airport" and at the last moment, flew away. The flight lasted 15 minutes at most. Flying over Haiti was saddening. Seeing the devastation from a few thousand feet at most was almost overwhelming. It was easy to see how thousands of people died. Concrete homes with little to no building regulations toppling over and crushing entire families, and businesses, and hospitals. Tent after tent, after make-shift shelter littered the landscape. <br />
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A taxi-van driver whipped us over to the Port Au Prince airport from where our charter flight landed. I have no idea why it didn't land where we were flying from, but in Haiti, you didn't ask too many questions. Re-entry into Port Au Prince airport was kind of nice. We sat in an air conditioned lobby with mostly English speaking people heading back to the United States. Tons of relief workers and doctors; I met a nurse who saw over 450 patients in five days and a construction crew that build 43 houses in a week. I felt very inadequate, but equally inspired by care and concern being shown to a place that could easily be forgotten.<br />
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No one was holding up signs and cheering for us when we walked off the plane in Miami, but I felt like kissing the ground and hugging everyone I saw. Most of the people I wanted to see were Ronald McDonald, the Burger King, and Mr. Coca Cola himself. We walked with purpose to find out how we would get home. Nashville flight: CANCELLED. We knew getting home would be a fight, but it didn't sting any less seeing it on the plasma paneled flat screen. We went straight to the counter and started working out the details. The airline had booked us for 11:20 pm Tuesday night to head back to Nashville. Unacceptable. We thought about Louisville, Memphis, Knoxville, and even Birmingham. BOOM. decided. Before I knew it, we were being booked on a flight to Knoxville for 8pm that evening, and would land at 10:30p. Then we would drive as far as we could, and hopefully be home that evening. The guys I traveled with were calling rental car companies, hotels in between Nashville and Knoxville and their wives for permission before I even knew what happened. They were ready for this fight, they had trained, and they had frequent traveler miles burning a holes in their pockets. Gung Ho was being gung ho, and Kevin was searching for Marlins tickets. I just kinda watched what was happening to me, and trying to call my wife.<br />
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The water had gone down a little and Shantel was much more calm. Amazing neighbors and church friends had checked in on her, and the situation had slowed a bit for her. The rest of Nashville was a different story. More rain was coming, and the worst would not be over for a while. 30 and 40 miles of interstate were being closed down, and entire communities were disappearing under flood water. We just wanted to get back to what was left of home.<br />
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We split up in two taxis, with over 8 hours before our flight to Knoxville would take off, and decided to go to a Marlins day game. I wasn't thrilled about this. Sitting outside was the last thing I wanted to do. To my surprise, no one in Miami knows there is a major league baseball team that plays in their town. We walked in for free. I counted 847 people at the game. This was good for us. Somehow, gung ho talked our way into the club level section, and before I knew it, we were seated in the shade. We danced the chicken dance, we screamed charge, we ate hamburgers and hotdogs, and watched baseball. Then, I remembered, there was a lounge inside. We wandered into a mixture of an airport terminal lobby and a super sports man cave. There were flat-screens everywhere playing the game we were watching, other games that were being played, sportscenter, and the 1986 major league baseball all-star game. I ate ice-cream while sitting in a leather chair and watching Cal Ripken Jr. and Barry Larkin play ball. The tragic turn of events was not lost on me; less than 6 hours before I was in a third world country. Now, I was in a climate-controlled house of worship for a child's game. I still ate my ice cream though.<br />
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We taxied back to the airport and continued our waiting game. I wasn't even sure we would make it to Knoxville. The flooding was everywhere, and the news was reporting deaths. The Opryland Hotel was evacuated and people who were in luxury suites were now in a high school gym laying on the floors without pillows or blankets. I just wanted to hold my wife and hug my children. Instead, we played spades in a airport cafeteria. It was a fight to stay sane. It was a fight to be polite. It was a fight just to get home. <br />
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By 8pm we were all spread out over our third airplane flight in less than 24 hours. After this we'd have a car ride. What a fight. I read two books while I was on the trip. "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy, and Donald Millers, "A Million Miles, and a Thousand Years." One story about making your life a meaningful story, and the other a hopeless journey on a road to keep hope alive. The irony was not lost on me there either. The plane landed in Knoxville and the rain was coming down.<br />
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"Don't come home." was the general consensus by all the wives of all the husbands on the trip. The magic of Facebook and text messaging banded them together against us, and the fight turned against us for a while in the Knoxville airport. All we wanted to do was go home. All they wanted to do was keep us safe. They were fine, the houses were fine, but no one was supposed to go anywhere. The entire city had imposed a travel curfew. We just wanted to go, but home didn't want us right now. They wanted us safe.<br />
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We split up in two cars. One heading to North Nashville and one South. We would drive till we couldn't go any farther, then we'd stop for the night. It sounded like a good plan. About 10 miles in, hotels had been booked a hour and half from Nashville in Cookeville, TN. Gung ho wasn't happy. I was miserable, and the wives were generally displeased with their stubborn husbands. Our mission trip to Haiti had turned into a mission to get home- and yes- it was a fight.<br />
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We were up by 4:59a. In the morning. The drive through downtown Nashville was almost as sobering as the drive from Port Au Prince to Jacmel. It felt like I'd come full circle. I started thinking about all I had seen, and everything I had felt, and wasn't really sure how I was going to explain to my wife the things I'd experienced. I just knew that I loved her and I was glad she was safe, and my girls were protected. I had talked to Shantel a few times during my trip, but only about the highlights. I hadn't heard much from my daughters other than "I love you daddy, I miss you!" I was ready to give them small gifts I had brought back and tell them the stories of the children across the ocean that were a lot like them, yet completely different. At 7am on Monday I was dropped off at my water-logged door step. The sky was pefectly blue, with whisps of clouds floating. I half-expected to see an ark parked in my cul de sac with an old man walking off the animal kingdom two by two.<br />
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I rang the door bell to my house, only two hear a stampede of tiny feet coming my way. My daughters poked through the curtains and screamed, "DADDY!" The door opened, and I was home. My daughter Hope smiled at me and said, "Hi Daddy, do you have pictures?" I was wowed by her interest in Haiti and the orphans and my travels. "I do", I said with a smile. "Yeah, Daddy, I want to see the ones where you threw up!"Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-73043846692681432182010-05-26T14:44:00.000-07:002010-05-26T16:57:17.724-07:00I'm Going To Disney WorldYes, it's true. Anna and I are going to my favorite place in the world: Disney World. She's now 11 and I know traveling with her mom is going to quickly become "not cool", so when the opportunity to go to Disney's pin convention in August came up, I jumped at the chance to take her for a little mom/daughter trip. <br />
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We are still in the planning stages, only having booked the actual convention so far and now trying to decide on a hotel and praying we get some good airfare on flights. We've never been to a convention before, so although I've talked to several people that have been, I'm still not entirely sure what to expect. I am quickly understanding that the convention will take up most of our day so I know we won't have much extra time at any other parks except Epcot, which is where the convention is being held. <br />
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So what type of convention are we going to you ask? Well, that would be a Disney pin convention. Yes, we are Disney pin collectors. Yes, we got sucked in. Here's the story: Now, when you visit any of the Disney theme parks you will find that the majority of the employees working (called cast members) will have on lanyards with pins. For a small fortune, you can buy your own lanyard and sets of pins and then you trade with the cast members. There are all types of different sets you can collect, some of which you can't buy but can only trade for. At our house, we (meaning me, Anna, Isaac and Luke) have each picked our favorite characters and we try to trade for only those pins. Anna loves Tinkerbell, Isaac loves Jack from Nightmare Before Christmas, Luke loves any Pirates and I personally collect nice Mickey pins, Chip and Dale, and Tower of Terror pins (my favorite ride). We also are looking for pins from the movie Enchanted and Up. Yes, they make pins for EVERYTHING and when I say EVERYTHING, I mean EVERYTHING. I'm not sure of the exact numbers, but I'm sure there are well over 50,000 pins that Disney has made. We personally display our pins on large decorative boards in our den and the we all enjoy planning what we will look for next. Here's some of our pins:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTDFpXKTpDJNq9aKdIlqVvWy75tOcvGpZVy1fQ6XClLOkrgsy75DqCsuG_oD6PdEdsNgnKa4iQhKfk-cw7CZzuHANHIc6QQ4z4WYYw9zC3J9gKiUDuzf4jjNXGFBbdAxvFggxTCbCrgnV/s1600/pins+025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTDFpXKTpDJNq9aKdIlqVvWy75tOcvGpZVy1fQ6XClLOkrgsy75DqCsuG_oD6PdEdsNgnKa4iQhKfk-cw7CZzuHANHIc6QQ4z4WYYw9zC3J9gKiUDuzf4jjNXGFBbdAxvFggxTCbCrgnV/s320/pins+025.jpg" /></a></div>It's a great hobby and I'm super pumped that we get another good excuse to visit Disney again. It truly is my happy place and even though we will only be there 3 1/2 days, I'm not going to complain!Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-91146783180865618232010-05-14T12:57:00.000-07:002010-05-14T13:30:06.540-07:00Haiti: Part 7 & 8If you this is the first time you are reading a post about my hubby's trip to Haiti you will definitely want to read these first before scrolling down:<br /><br /><a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-1-2.html">Haiti: Part 1 & 2</a><br /><a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-1-2.html">Haiti: Part 3 & 4 </a><br /><a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-5-6.html">Haiti: Part 5 & 6</a><br /><br />I wish I could take the credit for what you are about to read, but all the credit goes to our friend <a href="http://lifecommunity.wordpress.com/">Jay</a> who went with my hubby, J, and 5 other guys to Haiti from April 26-May 2. They were there working for the <a href="http://www.handsandfeetproject.org/home.php">Hands and Feet Project</a>. Here's Jay (with my J behind him):<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-ZjD7g_sboJ9wJVYBbbjN2AKaQ93k7yLZBGubw37cUPz8YnsvAvOf6gO_DtHxH7AxTS9_U2g7BEhbZvu7UEoS7JKua0q67CVag4yHJQPUHttPxa4hbFeKhTzZDvJmeyuhmJVOHiArlr9/s1600/jay.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-ZjD7g_sboJ9wJVYBbbjN2AKaQ93k7yLZBGubw37cUPz8YnsvAvOf6gO_DtHxH7AxTS9_U2g7BEhbZvu7UEoS7JKua0q67CVag4yHJQPUHttPxa4hbFeKhTzZDvJmeyuhmJVOHiArlr9/s320/jay.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471218172909237474" /></a><br />We all knew what Saturday morning meant. Larry had laid it out for us: We would start early, the supplies were here, and we were going to help pour a concrete roof. I remembered the roof. I knew what it had done to me on day one. At this point however, I would have rather done anything other than pick out rocks from the ground. We were outside by 6am. There was hammering and loud talking, and machines humming well before 5:30am. I stumbled out to the porch only to see an army of day laborers slinging mixed concrete up the roof at unimaginable speeds. I rubbed my eyes, looked left, and there was gung ho, legs propped up on the rails, watching real men work. Apparently, they were so good at what they did, that we would have got in the way. I'm not sure if this was what Larry had expected, and he had just been messing with us all along, but whatever the case, I think everyone was relieved. <br /><br />There was no conveyor belt, or giant concrete truck; just a small mixer dumping concrete onto the ground, 12 guys on a cobbled together ladder than had just been extended an hour before to reach up to the roof, and a small contingency adding water, concrete, and sand into the mixer, filling up buckets and slinging it up the ladder. It was almost like watching Cirque De Soleil or even Riverdance; dancers in perfect rhythm and step as they floated concrete into the air and onto the roof. We watched like little boys staring at a car engine while our father showed us the intricacies of such a great machine.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0WjCb-hf_V4M9r3f8Iv2YcR8Yy3zKFfDUzBpi239VyjONvpvCg2ogrO1DPEcOsRScnqqB-E8m0P4MzzUi_i1CRkLHJ_x99hwx8L_9ksVG1uV0d_vFJ3u4-VZC4bA4IhGx2C0J6Z-N7-L/s1600/haitiroof.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0WjCb-hf_V4M9r3f8Iv2YcR8Yy3zKFfDUzBpi239VyjONvpvCg2ogrO1DPEcOsRScnqqB-E8m0P4MzzUi_i1CRkLHJ_x99hwx8L_9ksVG1uV0d_vFJ3u4-VZC4bA4IhGx2C0J6Z-N7-L/s320/haitiroof.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471223483863526210" /></a><br /><br />While they labored, we stared, pointed, and took pictures of something, I'm sure could be seen every day with this work crew all across the town of Jacmel. It was amazing to us- and another day of work to them. <br /><br />It was the city of Jacmel's birthday and electricity flowed through the city. Literally, elecrticity flowed; the city had power for the whole weekend to celebrate the occasion. Michelle made plans for a few of us to visit the market place festival and then the hospitals since we wouldn't be needed at Hands & Feet. Michelle had a boyfriend she wanted to introduce us to. We were all a bit surpised, and intrigued. <br /><br />We walked past the no machine guns sign at the front of the hospital gate and through the rows of white tents that now housed the patients since the earthquake had destroyed portions of the hospital.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNEmdTtOu09f927EkQSX8T-mQCQWgkYvfoWPO9eiZNmyFjD51FbEaNl4xTrVav65unOqsKDvw-S-jw2zecQ9z9IvdwNMJrfpnYLPLv17m6ahRCg9W13m4NLQrf8h-7MdH1nCZn1EcT7z8/s1600/haitihospital.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNEmdTtOu09f927EkQSX8T-mQCQWgkYvfoWPO9eiZNmyFjD51FbEaNl4xTrVav65unOqsKDvw-S-jw2zecQ9z9IvdwNMJrfpnYLPLv17m6ahRCg9W13m4NLQrf8h-7MdH1nCZn1EcT7z8/s320/haitihospital.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471223482258256530" /></a><br />We walked through one tent where a small girl around the age of 5 or 6 was missing a section of skin from her shoulder and down her arm. With beautiful flowers hanging everywhere around the tents, I figured it used to be a courtyard, and now, it was the Hospital. Flies were hovering around her open wound, and as we paraded passed her through the tent, I don't think anyone had the courage to say a word.<br /><br />Michelle's boyfriend turned out to be staying in a children's hospital. This hospital had a few rooms with dozens of metal hospital beds lined up like around the sides creating a race track for the nurses to navigate. Her man: a 2 year old boy who had lost his eyesight. She would lean in and talk to him, and he would just smile and laugh. This got all the other children in the hospital laughing, and made me smile for the young boy, whose life was being made better through Michelle, but devastated for these children.<br /><br />There was no waiting room for parents to sit and family members to visit wondering whether or not their child was going to recover. For these infant patients, this was their home for the moment and the nurses were the only love they knew. As I walked out I noticed a small poster hanging on the wall. It was a locker hanging of the nickelodeon character iCarly. Depressing.<br /><br />So much of the Hands & Feet would move from practical, helpful, and concrete steps to improve the place, while other things were much more thought provoking and abstract in the effect it had on the children, and mostly, on us. We were deeply affected by the people of Jacmel and the daily fight for survival.<br /><br />We hopped back in a pick up truck and headed back to prepare for our trip to the beach. I had a thought as we were driving past the tap taps on the road, "How do you get 45 people to the beach in a 12 passenger van?"<br /><br />8. The Beach <br /><br />Since we'd been gone on our trip, all the children that were going to the beach, had already changed into swimsuits and had their towels around each neck. They were ready! Michelle told us when she first started taking them to the beach, they were terrified, because the children had never been exposed to something like that before. Reminder: Haiti is an island. The ocean is everywhere. How sad to think that a few miles away might as well be a lifetime.<br /><br />27 people in total went to the beach. 9 grown adults and 18 children: in one min-van. Personal space is not an understood or practiced philosophy in Haiti, or Hands and Feet for that matter. Someone is always close by, and by close- I mean right on top of you. After a while, you realize that everyone is sweaty, and you can't escape, so you might as well deal with it. I sat in the front middle seat of the driving bench with a stick shift in front of me, and the ceiling of the van pressing down on my neck. My head was crooked over and I just prayed for small pot holes and quick travel. I later found out, we passed up two closer beaches that were only minutes away, so we could go to the "nice" beach. <br /><br />As my realigned spine unfolded and we slid out the front door, we watched the others unpack much like a clown car on to the beach. We counted, double counted, and triple counted. Then we walked single file to the beach. I felt like I was in elementary school, and wished I was the line leader. The kids, were well, kids. They played in the water. One little boy brought a toy soldier with a motorcylcle and that terrorized most of the shoreline with his sound effects and endless gasoline supply. That toy must have excellent fuel efficiency. It was fun to watch him play.<br /><br /><br />We threw football, dove through the waves, and even kicked some of their football. The waves were small and the ocean was very warm. The sand was odd too. It looked like sand, and acted like sand, but it felt like mud. The kids didn't care; they screamed when the waves would hit them, and always wanted you to hold their hands. And... we did.<br /><br /><br />On the way home I sat in the first row of the back seat. Three guys sat on the bench, and four or five children sat between, around, or on us. One little girl in front of me fell asleep with her head on my leg. At first I was extremely uncomfortable with the whole thing, but then I had a thought: I wonder if this child had ever fallen asleep in someones arms. With only so many arms and laps to go around and 40 plus children, I can't imagine this opportunity happens too often. I can't think of a better feeling than being a child falling asleep in a parents arms. At home, I sometimes watch my daughters sleep, and listen to them breathe. I imagined them playing at the beach and falling asleep as we drove home with four people in a four person car seated in a child's safety seat. I think the happiness that I saw was the same, but the realities very different. I was ready to get home to my reality, and my children and wife, but didn't mind watching this little girl peacefully sleep in a wet smelly car of 27 people in a minivan after being at the beach.<br /><br />We got back to the orphanage around 5pm to a few missed phone calls from my wife.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-48717644910347925322010-05-09T19:54:00.000-07:002010-05-10T16:11:08.027-07:00Haiti : Part 5 & 6If you are reading this for the first time, please take a few moments to read Part 1 & 2 <a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-1-2.html">HERE</a> and Part 3 & 4 <a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-3-4.html">HERE</a> before reading this next section.<br /><br />I wish I could take the credit for writing this amazing journal of thoughts from my hubby's recent trip to Haiti April 26-May 2, but all the credit goes to our friend Jay. Here's Jay with my J behind him in Haiti:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-fIiCCYVMygmtjonovXTTuA4tYZryTV9BiGwo-ZaCOCUnxhMvkPBNrO5nJ8mwZexjP4voc4luX3Gt6f1lphTyRZmr0A54m_tjb9OsEhtkCbh9mgRatHwEGIjexCqMtbGJ7VNR0HxO7dt/s1600/jay.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-fIiCCYVMygmtjonovXTTuA4tYZryTV9BiGwo-ZaCOCUnxhMvkPBNrO5nJ8mwZexjP4voc4luX3Gt6f1lphTyRZmr0A54m_tjb9OsEhtkCbh9mgRatHwEGIjexCqMtbGJ7VNR0HxO7dt/s320/jay.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469470780986455954" /></a><br />Being in Haiti is not like being in another country; its like being on another planet. <br /><br />The next few days blended together with familiarity. Michelle would take us on errands, and a few of the guys would get to see Jacmel a bit at a time. Larry ran the construction chess match, and we were disposable pawns. He was matched up against a mastermind opponent: the schedule. In America, you break your pick axe, you wander down to the local hardware store (or three within a tenth of a mile) and you choose from a wide variety of pick axes. You can get your standard, or one with a built in level and mp3 player. In Haiti, you break it- its gone. Larry was protective of his tools for good reason. But the schedule was the real killer. Concrete blocks showed up when they were ready, and concrete bags were even worse. To quote "O' Brother Where Art Thou?" ,Haiti is a geographical oddity- two weeks from everywhere. The best thing I can compare it to in America: A cable company. You never know when it i'll show up, but you'll be appreciative... otherwise... no ESPN for you.<br /><br />All of this didn't sneak up on Larry. He was wise to the ways of Haiti, and also keeping volunteers busy. In the middle of the courtyard was a playground with swings, and a merry go round, and eight holes in the ground. The group before us, and maybe the group before that, had dug holes for the footings to complete the Hands & Feet play palace. "Why don't you guys finish out those holes and we'll pour the footings with concrete and have the play set up." Sounds easy enough right? "And, it will give you something to do while we wait for the supplies."<br /><br />Why would anyone want to give up vacation to go do something like this? It's simple: Natalie, Kirby, Crystala, and 40 other perfect examples of second chance grace. Hands & Feet pours love and protection over orphan children and chips away the stone cold existence of the harsh reality they came from. I am quite certain after hearing their stories, the men on this trip would have done anything to make their life a bit easier.<br /><br />That "anything" turned out to be digging holes in 90 degree weather in the blazing sun. We guess it would be a 2 hour job... only to be reminded that Haiti came from volcanic activity and this polluted paradise was nothing but rock. In Tennessee, you'd go rent some massive piece of equipment by the hour at home depot that would probably have you half way to the Earth's core by brunch. In Jacmel, you were given a small chisel, a hammer, and a pat on the back. Oh, and a pick axe that stayed together most of the time.<br /><br />Two of the more experienced mission trip takers, Kevin and Gung Ho sized up the job. Larry brought out string and measurements, and levels... it was quite an undertaking. We surmised about 4 inches needed in the first hole. No problem. We hammered with force. We abused that pick axe like it had said things about our mother. Rock and dirt flew around like escapees from a police raid. Proud of our efforts, with sweat pouring off of everything single one of us after five minutes, we pulled out the measuring stick. Somehow, we now had five inches to go instead of four! Worse than a long line at the DMV, this was my version of hell. It was tedious. It was laborious. It was discouraging. <br /><br />For hours we chipped away. Every once in a while someone would pull a stone the size of their fist from the ground, and those were celebratory moments; we yelled like someone had just scored a touchdown- at least I did anyway. Other times, it was small chips that had no intentions of giving up easily. What started out as a side project, became our mountain to conquer. All seven us climbed it one chisel at a time. Gung Ho looked at me, I guess wondering if I was going to give out on him again, and asked, "What do you think about this?" I thought about it a second... "Well, its kind of like being a pastor. You are given your group of people and you chisel away at them. Sometimes, amazing things happen. Other times, you keep on hammering." He liked that answer. <br /><br />Haiti, and life for that matter, were a lot like that hole. There is no easy answer, there is no quick fix. Its just one chisel at a time. You do what you can with what you have. And for Hands and Feet they were redeeming one inch of dirt at a time... for a play ground, for kids who might not have ever gotten to play.<br /><br />One full day of work brought about two completed holes. Six more to go.<br />PART 6:<br />I cannot speak knowledgeably about others, but my mind works in pictures. I have images stored that tell a story. The Counting Crows say, "If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts. You can never escape you can only move south down the coast." One of the reasons I write this story is to help capture those pictures, so hopefully, I won't ever forget what I saw. I hope to be haunted.<br /><br />I remember pictures of the guys on the trip:<br /><br />Chris had taken this trip a year before, and I don't think he ever cleaned the Haiti off of him. Casual relationships no longer satisfy, and he longs for people to interact on a truly authentic level. He invited friends he hoped to challenge, to inspire, and maybe to rewrite new chapters in a grand story designed by the ultimate author. Mission accomplished.<br /><br />Early on, Matt would joke about Kevin. He'd say that Kevin would work hard on Day one, and in latter days, be found playing with the children. I honestly don't think it's Kevin's fault. He is a dad. The kids sniffed it all over him, and there was hardly a time when he wasn't out there surrounded by a crowd of orphans just wanting to wear his hat. Man did he work hard. He was the oldest in age, but youngest at heart, and wasn't afraid to take the worst jobs. That might have been the last chicken coup he cleans out, but he did it with a willing heart, no matter how weak his stomach. <br /><br />Bradford made me tired. I remember the last day we were there, after having finally conquered our mountain of concrete footings chiseling one inch at a time, someone asked him to dig out a few other rocks displaced into the courtyard after a hurricane years before. I was too busy hiding around the corner to know how Bradford came about with the assignment, but I figure it was just like everything else I watched him do: with a smile. Bradford never wore down. He was always friendly; he made friends at the airport, friends in the airplane, friends with the Haitian day-laborers, and even tried his hand at a friendly game of soccer against one of the best players in Haiti. Ever since I got back to Nashville, I keep running into people who know Bradford, and I have to say, I'm not surprised.<br /><br />Matt (Gung Ho) was I'm pretty sure, assigned to make sure the preacher made it out alive. We paired up working, because he knew what he was doing out there, and well, I didn't. I came home with ant bites and scrapes, and he looked like he'd been at a day spa. It was disgusting. I think he also liked to look at me, so he'd feel better about himself. I can't prove it, but I believe it. At one point, I saw Matt checking his emails, and then he told me he had like 18,000 emails in his inbox. Much like he thought I was joking about nausea, I thought he was exaggerating. Not so. As hard as he worked at Hands and Feet, he was also juggling work from a few thousand miles away. A natural leader, with a big heart. <br /><br />I have this constant image in my head of Jonathan. I don't know if it was really this way or not, but I see it clearly. In both arms, a child. Also, probably one on his back, and one pulling on one of his legs. It wasn't out of obligation or guilt, but I think he was just comfortable that way. With twin boys that were his spitting image, and a precious young lady who looks like her momma, I also found out he and his wife felt a calling to adopt. Now a family of five kids, I half way expected the x ray machines at Port Au Prince airport to reveal a stow-away in his luggage. I can't think of a clearer picture of what God does for us in being called His children. Galatians talks about how we who trust in Christ are heirs, and called by his name. Its not just a last name, its an eternal inheritance. Jonathan and his lovely wife are living, breathing, walking examples of how God loves us by adoption.<br /><br />One of my favorite parts of the trip: Tyler. One night while up on the roof, staring at the stars, and processing all that we had seen, Tyler said, his friends were asking him why he went to Haiti. He wasn't quite sure what to tell them. I loved his honesty. The funny thing was, I wasn't sure why I had come either. One of my pastor friends joked with me, " Jay, I can think of many many things that Haiti could use to help. You are not one of them." Tyler prayed for me and I got to pray with him. He had willingly unplugged from the cellular world, and I think he loved every second of that. I think everyone was stretched by the experience in Haiti, and I'd like to be a fly on the wall when Tyler tells his story. <br /><br />It only took a few days, but I can gladly say, I'd go anywhere with those guys again. Well. most of them anyway.<br /><br />It was Saturday morning, and I was ready to come home.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-18290271025000472092010-05-09T17:30:00.000-07:002010-05-09T17:46:29.052-07:00Haiti : Part 3 & 4If you are haven't read the first post about my husband's recent trip to Haiti, you must read <a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/haiti-part-1-2.html">THIS</a> first before reading this post.<br /><br />I wish I could take the credit for the amazing post you are about to read, but all the credit goes to our friend <a href="http://lifecommunity.wordpress.com/">Jay</a> would traveled with my husband J to Haiti April 26-May 2. Here's Jay:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBpGql2VWfY7RCe3Y4GThNAq9Kxq44QfSlCGHH0AXzAJR8CnbC94hGIhyg7n_ZAPI2TonIbmf7vC6cngrnY9XhNKGaH2J0xfeF1ibN9sCpSMiV98aME36bZgvrnLE9WOmhbvHxHRD3JJD/s1600/jay.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBpGql2VWfY7RCe3Y4GThNAq9Kxq44QfSlCGHH0AXzAJR8CnbC94hGIhyg7n_ZAPI2TonIbmf7vC6cngrnY9XhNKGaH2J0xfeF1ibN9sCpSMiV98aME36bZgvrnLE9WOmhbvHxHRD3JJD/s320/jay.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469432743622582162" /></a><br />We rode down a long driveway with exotic trees, and piled stone leading us up to a security wall with a large steel gate. It felt like entering another world we had yet to see in Haiti. It was gorgeous. The mountain we had climbed was staring back at us smiling, and beneath it, and giant courtyard, with large white concrete buildings making up the Hands and Feet Compound. We tumbled out of the van only to be greeted by a mass of cheering children hugging us and checking our pockets for candy. They had done this before. <br /><br />Michelle Mease led the orphanage. She gave us the tour and told us the story. 45 children called Hands & Feet home and everyone one had a story. 5 different buildings house children. It was a strange feeling. I expected to come to an orphanage and feel badly for the children. I've been to orphanages before in other countries, but this was different. Compared to what I had already seen in my half-day in Haiti, I knew these children were treated like kings and queens. They were affectionate and sweet and well-adjusted. They did not scream for attention, instead they gave hugs and kisses like that was what children freely did and were supposed to do. And it is. <br /><br />The men I went with were from all different backgrounds all connecting back to Chris. It was clear that several of them were used to efficiency, and getting the project done, and well... actual work. They were ready to get to it. Our job was to do whatever Hands & Feet needed. Chris told us last year he painted a little and put together a swing set, but mostly they played with the kids. I noticed some pretty significant construction going on with about 8 workers getting after it. Michelle fixed us lunch, roasted chicken. Pretty sure the chicken was alive a few hours before. I woozily wandered out to see what the other guys were about to get into, still feeling the van ride motion sickness, and now a type of work I was clearly not used to.<br /><br />I grabbed the shiny new work gloves I brought, and gingerly climbed the homemade extension ladder to the second story where concrete blocks were being passed up and then again up another step ladder that should have been retired. All the other guys were already in place, so I was processed to the roof, while the Haitian co-workers laughed at me for being so pale, and obviously out of my element. The heat was pounding down on me. It felt like I was closer to the sun that any other time in my life. The next thing I know... 30 minutes pass of an assembly line of tossing concrete blocks (20lbs) and placing them on the roof. The speed was incredible. They looked like they were passing pillows, and I was the only white guy in site. I figured the other guys were down on the second floor admiring my passion and work-drive, or they were much smarter and slower, and probably drinking water. <br /><br />Minute 25 I realized that throwing up was inevitable. Minute 28 I thought I was going to pass out. Minute 29 I imagined I was going to stop sweating and die of dehydration. Minute 30 I stepped out of the line and bent over to catch my breath. They all laughed at me. Apparently it had been a game to see how fast they could wear me out. I looked over at Larry and he smiled, and said, I'll tell you later. Larry by the way, wasn't doing anything but watching. I hated Larry at that moment.<br /><br />I struggled down the ladder after barely half of one hour. I fought myself from letting go of the ladder all together on the long one- just so I might never have to work again. I somehow found myself at the water jug of "American-safe" water to drink and sat down on the front porch in a rocking chair. All the other guys came down too and grabbed some water, and one gung ho alpha male (out of the many that were on the trip) came over and said, "fun, huh?" I wiped my brow and said, "I'm just trying not to throw up." They all laughed. They thought I was funny. I wasn't being funny.<br /><br />Back to work. I couldn't hardly see straight. My knees were starting to shake. Sweat was rolling off of me and everyone else. Concrete block after block after block. I finally pulled away for another break. It was probably 2:30 by this time, not knowing that 3:00 would be stopping time for the real workers, since they had been at since 6am, because Larry was a mute who enjoyed seeing white preachers suffer.<br /><br />I wanted to lay down and die. Gung Ho came back over to me, and said, "Are you going to say anything to us." I said, "No really, I'm trying not to throw up." They laughed again. I walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and gave up the fight. I have never expelled that much fluid in my life. I felt like a fire hydrant being turned on for kids to play in on the street. <br /><br />I wiped my mouth, changed my shirt, and went back at it. That was almost 3pm of my my first day of a mission trip that would be 5 full days in Haiti. Surely, it would get better from here, right?<br /><br />I was wrong about Larry. <br /><br />I had survived the night and actually felt much better. For all basic purposes, I might as well have been on another planet. This planet did not have cell phone coverage, air conditioning during the day, nor warm water. The only great thing about it- I wasn't alone. All seven of us were going through a bit of withdrawal, and clearly none of us were in our element. I think Larry and Michelle were well aware of this and had a few things that for whatever reason made the world better. Larry let me in on his stash of Pepsi. They were giant glass bottles that were covered in silt seated in a wooden box that had clearly never seen a super market in the last few decades. Folks would drink em, they load everything back up, and swamp them out with a redemption discount. I'm not sure if it was for the environment or because Larry loved glass bottles. Either way- Larry totally redeemed himself.<br /><br />Schedule was everything. The students went to school, came back to their home with 40+ siblings, played, did chores, and all ate supper together. By 8pm the crew at Hands & Feet had everyone in there rooms. We would all sit on the porch, rock in chairs, and listen to Michelle and Larry. From March to September they hosted groups like us to come and help with the ministry and get a taste of Haiti. The orphanage was sweet, and Haiti was gritty. At one point, I asked Michelle if she grew tired of answering the same questions ( I already knew what Larry thought about it!). You could tell she didn't mind and was just happy to communicate in English with adults. Larry was two different people. There was Larry the crew leader, protector of equipment, and keeper of order, and then there was Larry the father figure to his children. It was amazing to see the visible love that Larry and Michelle had for these orphans.<br /><br />Michelle's every thought revolved around her different kids. She loved to talk about their progress, intelligence, and where she thought they would end up working in life. Some doctors, some mechanics, and even a pastor or two.<br /><br />They loved to tell the redemption stories. Michelle started with one about Larry and Larry would interject if he felt the need. A baby was left in the care of Michelle and they were looking for placement of her. Natalie had no where to go, and a children's facility fell through for taking care of her. Larry agreed to care for her for 30 days. His words, "I can do anything for 30 days." After a few days in, Larry went to work, and caregivers came in to help with Natalie since she appeared to have some disabilities. They called him after he'd been gone most of the day, and said Natalie had been screaming all day. Larry came home, and when he walked in, she immediately stopped crying. 30 days turned into an adoption. Natalie has cerebral palsy and is confined to a wheel chair. She requires constant attention, but she lights up when Larry walks in. Redemption.<br /><br />Kirby is two years old and lightning fast. Michelle said to let her know if we saw a little boy running around without his shoes and possibly without his pants. "He can't hear, so don't yell for him... just let me know." We were told that Kirby should not be alive. His condition is microcephaly. His head is smaller than it should be and it almost always- the child never survives. Kirby's only apparent issue is a lack of hearing. Michelle plans on teaching all 40 children sign language and has already picked out a local boy to help Kirby learn how to communicate. Bigger than that, It is possible that with the right doctors, and medical care, some of Kirby's hearing might be restored. I have a feeling that Kirby's story of redemption is far from over<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9J80qCo9ZYChIMghfK8836FnuSBIgTfIM4f5b68-6tdG45CDV56qOsutsXMdJZfoZt_AlWAf8Jmjho8TbbFxCwBr3KOMw2qyd_VvwkyVH-fDo55-u-5xDfHc-BGYxGsJbkyKz0I7WcpX2/s1600/kirby.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 87px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9J80qCo9ZYChIMghfK8836FnuSBIgTfIM4f5b68-6tdG45CDV56qOsutsXMdJZfoZt_AlWAf8Jmjho8TbbFxCwBr3KOMw2qyd_VvwkyVH-fDo55-u-5xDfHc-BGYxGsJbkyKz0I7WcpX2/s320/kirby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469435821049479698" /></a><br /><br />Each child had their story. Michelle and Larry seemed to know them all. This wasn't a situation where someone answered an add for a job. This was not a 40 hour a week- something to do- until the next thing comes open. This was a calling, and it was clear that Michelle & Larry were called. They told a story of a baby being brought to them. The parents came to them, "We had five children and four have died of starvation. We'd like one to survive." and they left the baby there. Another's mother had died of Aids, and the baby tested positive for HIV. We visited this beautiful baby in the children's hospital ( a room with 30 metal cribs, 30 children, and two ceiling fans). Michelle's prayer was for the mom's blood to carry the HIV and in a few months, when they tested again, the little baby would not have the life ending virus so he could come and live at Hands & Feet. I want that too.<br /><br />Crystala topped them all. Her mother was 15 and when she knew she was going to deliver, instead of going to a hospital, or telling someone else, she went into a public restroom (4 toilet stalls lined up like out houses) and delivered a baby girl. After watching life itself come from within her, the mother threw Crystala away. She dropped her down the toilet and walked out. <br /><br />A young boy saw the girl come out with blood all over her, and knew she had been pregnant. He ran over to the bathroom and could hear the cry of a baby. He called the police. The UN police arrived, and dug down over 28 feet through filth, disease, and human waste hoping to find a baby. Michelle showed me the video. Crystala survived two births in one day. She escaped from a mother who didn't want her, and she was saved by concerned boy, UN workers, and a loving God who must certainly have big plans for her life. Redemption.<br /><br />I held the three year old Crystala in my lap. When she looked at you, you wanted to cheer for her. I was watching a living, breathing, and laughing miracle.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKK8FcNUrfaBaJKye_sgJa1PJj52dsQiju5JJUDxzRkUeLoVVDb3N6JQX_hFCiyICzRzqylCf-hNEsik3Q-qxZSeaOZEWqQ9MwPuCep3IpfnTJ2J7Nm68-A_LruDph4BfIcs-Xo8ZiWB3W/s1600/krystal.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 87px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKK8FcNUrfaBaJKye_sgJa1PJj52dsQiju5JJUDxzRkUeLoVVDb3N6JQX_hFCiyICzRzqylCf-hNEsik3Q-qxZSeaOZEWqQ9MwPuCep3IpfnTJ2J7Nm68-A_LruDph4BfIcs-Xo8ZiWB3W/s320/krystal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469436163556803778" /></a><br /><br />Lying in my bunk that night, thankful for the fan that circulated cool night air, I couldn't help but think about how God is in the redemption business. I saw his love on display through Michelle and through Larry. They are more than employees of Hands & Feet. They are protectors of the weak. They are advocates of the defenseless. They are in the redemption business, and business is booming.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-44890845169692139302010-05-08T19:02:00.001-07:002010-05-08T19:17:11.265-07:00Haiti: Part 1 & 2I wish I could take the credit for writing the following posts because I think they are amazing, but all the credit goes to our friend <a href="http://www.lifecommunity.wordpress.com">Jay</a> who joined Jonathan on his recent trip to Haiti April 26-May 2, 2010. Here's Jay in Haiti with my J behind him:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcDpUbdBS-vTB5QWfcGs4PGGLASj6ZPqW065jtcsHjrI4DSWtHZjAZ4t3HrnHGaf_dSRAKZMx-b0TP4s19ij51S8sPGON_m3neqgUAcq9eHLskBr3IFxIhq9XFv-XlWnpXsIYTExEGEA2/s1600/jay.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcDpUbdBS-vTB5QWfcGs4PGGLASj6ZPqW065jtcsHjrI4DSWtHZjAZ4t3HrnHGaf_dSRAKZMx-b0TP4s19ij51S8sPGON_m3neqgUAcq9eHLskBr3IFxIhq9XFv-XlWnpXsIYTExEGEA2/s320/jay.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469086445693485778" /></a><br /><br />PART ONE:<br /><br />Flew to Miami with six other men. None of them from my church, and I only really knew one of them well. Chris had invited us all to go on this trip. I originally told him no. I felt like I had too much going on at my church. He didn't flinch, "Hey man, you are always going to be too busy. You should go with me on this trip." <br /><br />I had kind of found myself in this place where I felt like the universe was being set in motion, its every rotation, dependent on my existence. I was Desmond, and if the button didn't get pushed.... <br /><br />We all are "too busy" It's all relative to what we think is "busy". The fact is, we are all replaceable, and only make time for the things we truly care about. I preach about taking the good news about Jesus around the world and showing God's love to others almost every week, but my calendar only reflects a self-important administrator who makes sure there are enough chairs on Sunday. I talked to Shantel, prayed about it, and called him back. I was in. Turns out 5 of the 7 guys who went told him no too. Chris had his work cut out for him.<br /><br />Spent the night in a pink Embassy Suites only to wake up at 4:30AM to catch the flight to Haiti. I don't have a problem with planes. My issue comes into play with motion sickness on roller coasters and car rides. If I'm not upfront, its over. We landed at what was left of the Port Au Prince airport. chaos. Entrance into the country and customs was basically a mean lady with a stamp and ball point pen. I imagined there to be only 8 ball point pens in all of Haiti after the Earthquake. I smiled at her, she smiled back, and I was in. I still got it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWAUwiNDqemWJSgSYxo_Z5m_R38XynLyJPRFtGQOCAjtgdjBb9LOTKpVWtx020vGBZRecXcXyjvkwKtqcHfCt6d-6nllvdhwOgzYNR7Ydls9Mo-nbrNYg_faoG3nqPnQ-F09_cNF1APzW/s1600/haiti-airport.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWAUwiNDqemWJSgSYxo_Z5m_R38XynLyJPRFtGQOCAjtgdjBb9LOTKpVWtx020vGBZRecXcXyjvkwKtqcHfCt6d-6nllvdhwOgzYNR7Ydls9Mo-nbrNYg_faoG3nqPnQ-F09_cNF1APzW/s320/haiti-airport.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469088215952837218" /></a><br />We were told you would land, and they would throw your luggage into a pile, and you'd have to scrap for it. Apparently that was all yesterdays news because a conveyor belt was now handling the action. It was relatively tame inside the baggage claim. Outside was a whole nother story. It looked like the Haitian equivalent to a Justin Bieber stampede at a mall performance. We waited inside the fence for our driver to show up. That felt like a long wait.<br /><br />Someone showed with a scrap of cardboard that wrote "Christoph" with the "er" trailing off like a bad junior high election poster where the mom refused to help the kid, and the kid lost because he couldn't space his name properly on a piece of paper and the "er" was in tiny print falling off the self promotional cliff. We followed him.<br /><br />The next 500 ft. to the car felt like 50,000. I didn't look anyone in the eye, and I felt like Jason Bourne being chased by baggage hitmen wanted to "tip" me to death. We ended up next to this mini-van with 6 grown men essentially competing for the same tip. AWKWARD. Somehow this was handled and OTIS our driver and surprisingly, there was a small American with us, who barely said a word. Otis and Larry were our protection. <br /><br />Larry never formally introduced himself, but he helped to lead the <a href="http://www.handsandfeetproject.org">Hands and Feet Orphanage </a>in Jacmel where we were heading. Having no clue what this trip was going to be like, only preparing for the worst, I had taken anti-nausea medicine for the van drive. 65 miles to Jacmel, and it took over 3 1/2 hours. <br /><br />At first we were asking Larry questions. "Why was the airport like that?" "How long will this trip take?" "Is this normal?" Larry was clearly uninterested in answering any questions, and promptly dosed off into a nap, which left us to take in the sights for ourselves. Now, most of you know me, I am what you would call an extrovert. I enjoy conversation, an experiential journey as we openly communicate thoughts, and possible humorous things we might see while driving. For almost 4 hours, no one spoke one word. Larry knew what we would see could not be explained.<br />I sat in the front seat, doing my best to avoid losing my lunch in front of grown men I barely knew. We drove past the actual airport that had been damaged from the earthquake, and I could tell that it had once been a fairly nice place. Rubble was everywhere. The road was barely recognizable except for the three lanes of traffic on the two lane road. Pick up trucks with a covering over the back and two benches to sit on either side would be filled with 20-40 Haitians at a time piled in the popular taxi transportation. They would "tap tap" on the side, and the driver would pull over. The Tap Taps were everywhere. The other thing that was everywhere: people. It was like they were walking around but had no place to go. It really felt like aimless wandering, with a mixture of motor bikes zipping in and out of the three laned- two lane roads. Everyone honked their horns. <br /><br />There appeared to be one road from city to city and anyone with a vehicle was on it. Inches off the road, tent after tent was lined up for living. It felt like no one was farther than 1 foot from the road. Everything was ruined. I wish I knew what Port Au Prince looked like before, I was told Haiti is the 4th most contaminated place on Earth, and the first three are due to nuclear fall out. Contaminated makes it sound so distant. This was unimaginable. We drove past flowing rivers of trash. Imagine a man-made lake-bed to help irrigate the city so no water would over-take it. Now, replace the gushing water with sewage. People were wading through it trying to scoop out debris. It was liking watching a fireman take a squirt pistol to blazing inferno. Trash was everywhere. Debris, rubble, garbage, and children all floated around and played together. Children were chasing each other inches away from the highway. Some had clothes on... no one had real actual shoes. But hey, I'm here to tell you that Crocs have made a global impact!<br /><br />The paved road became the equivalent to a bmx rally track. The potholes were almost vehicle sized, perfect for a dirt bike to catch some air. We bounced around in the minivan like someone giant had picked us up and was shaking us violently to see how we'd react. More rubble. More devastation. Hopelessness loomed in the air like a fog that never ended. <br /><br />I never saw any fast food restaurants. I thought McDonald's were everywhere. Not in Haiti. There was nothing in Haiti. Gas Stations were miles and miles apart, and actual offices and buildings didn't seem to exist anymore. The only thing I could make out were car dealerships. That was odd too. They had no inventory visible. Everything was concrete walls and fences, the ones that survived the earthquake. The "Walmart" in the major city of Port Au Prince was nothing more than an open market with hundreds of items piled on top of each other in the open sky for people to rummage through. I saw this massive pile- the size of a one car garage- of t-shirts. Shoes were the same way. They looked mildew stained and ratty. I asked Larry if that was donations given from earthquake relief. He said they were for sale. That was the open market. We drove on.<br /><br />Just past the rubble, debris, urine and garbage stained streets, just beyond the lean-tos, tents, and fallen huts, you could barely make out the beach. From the van, it looked like a picture you'd see in someones beach house. Palm trees and little boats, and perfectly blue ocean. paradise right?<br /><br />The second part of the trip was up a mountain. The one road in the country followed the curves of a mountain with blind spots at every turn. All you could hear were little moped and motor bike honks, and I imagined the whole thing to be a very ridiculous video game, only with no extra lives. I dozed off at one point, only to wake up to a soldier with an AK-47 staring at me through the windshield. He had a funny blue construction hat. I rubbed my eyes to see the UN sticker, and the earth mover behind him. The roads were falling apart and earthquake landslides had made the barely two lane road... less than one lane for the motorists to honk at each other on. 20, 30 minutes, finally the machine gun toting humanitarian let us pass. 5 miles, another stop with an earth mover chipping away at one side of a mountain only to toss it to the other side. By this time, 15 motor bikes had sped past us, only to screech to a halt with a UN soldier almost clotheslining one of them. Finally we were allowed to pass.<br /><br />The downhill turn of the mountain was treacherous also. Otis didn't want to drive too fast, as little cities would pop up and people would wander out in front of you like a stray dog hoping to be put out of its misery. So, we'd drive fast, we'd drive slow, and Otis braked so much, I wondered if we would have to put our feet through the floor like a flinstone mobile. The anti-nausea medicine started to wear off and my prayer life took an uptick. "God, please don't let me throw up in Haiti in front of grown men I don't know." That was the last half-hour. I prayed so much so, that I'm not even sure what the orphanage looked like once we pulled in.Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-1919167450864863752010-04-27T17:23:00.000-07:002010-04-27T19:16:23.433-07:00Goodbye Nashville, Hello Haiti<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2cpozVFUY25sYjOU7zUO2NcuVIO1OaJB44Xrhw_vc3vOPod6LQdPRy1NLJbaXxwXXFFrZA1Uz7E0fJ0OktFYCoNtXvJjOGTzItPHh4ohu9vpa6c2ycYKSFsQJqLvTat1a5aNRsiZrk5D/s1600/haiti+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464977714161356178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2cpozVFUY25sYjOU7zUO2NcuVIO1OaJB44Xrhw_vc3vOPod6LQdPRy1NLJbaXxwXXFFrZA1Uz7E0fJ0OktFYCoNtXvJjOGTzItPHh4ohu9vpa6c2ycYKSFsQJqLvTat1a5aNRsiZrk5D/s320/haiti+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The above pic is our friend, Tyler (far left), my hubby J (center), and our friend, Chris (far right). These three guys plus 4 other men left for Haiti Monday. Haiti had been on J's heart long before the earthquake, so when Chris decided to go back (he volunteered there last year pre-earthquake)J jumped at the chance to go with him. They are there with <a href="http://www.handsandfeetproject.org/home.php">Hands and Feet project</a> working at an orphanage. Will you pray for this group of men this week? They return home May 2.<br /><br />Here's another shot of Chris with his family, Kim, McKinley and Jack. Chris organized the trip and I loved this shot of his family. They are some of our dearest friends and we love them to death.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHD9D3SuMBLKLqYY4i8ZdtWB8wSjGOcur6Ks1qNUwjcWhLTb1NG83PSelwUYSjGemFNaEVhkaRhX6hDTB51xJpgtLzMD2L8vASa4pdFdmkrsrykVoBv678rwCYEMMhdN5bEYgUmBamoqRl/s1600/haiti+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHD9D3SuMBLKLqYY4i8ZdtWB8wSjGOcur6Ks1qNUwjcWhLTb1NG83PSelwUYSjGemFNaEVhkaRhX6hDTB51xJpgtLzMD2L8vASa4pdFdmkrsrykVoBv678rwCYEMMhdN5bEYgUmBamoqRl/s320/haiti+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464979147663746930" /></a>Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-22430217857875543632010-04-23T13:13:00.000-07:002010-04-23T13:20:01.885-07:00Papa Eddie w/ The Kids<div>On Wednesday, I had to go for my follow-up appointment to get my stitches removed. My mom and dad, Juju and Papa Eddie, volunteered to come to the house and watch the babies while I was gone. Mom snapped these pics and I just smiled ear to ear when she emailed them to me. I am very blessed to have such an amazing family that loves my kiddos and wants to hang out with them. Here's Papa Eddie and Joshua:</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_kNaspWgIQXf_ZqlEiPNkjVUINOPDxCG8yo10KXVCYYyGEeduy1fp_3jPYhUgT8Gz3WHmg0OL_WZr_VURP5LwqiVMAaTVcrnzqkLWDR6ADx0X2ImjvKyAEYIJEaQsYke0R8xJv29Qvxj/s1600/papaeddie.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463429209160043522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_kNaspWgIQXf_ZqlEiPNkjVUINOPDxCG8yo10KXVCYYyGEeduy1fp_3jPYhUgT8Gz3WHmg0OL_WZr_VURP5LwqiVMAaTVcrnzqkLWDR6ADx0X2ImjvKyAEYIJEaQsYke0R8xJv29Qvxj/s320/papaeddie.bmp" border="0" /></a><br />Here's Papa Eddie and Mary Elizabeth. He had obviously told her a pretty funny secret:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRbqioPzxRwJhkRCBzf-r8kLQMXBxXC-M7apLehOpmH0z1EY-v95jUgPUYmomDZNr_-hXD6f4MTKgy6ddvi0R2PG2EZRnf1A6JHvc3cAT0XJ5iXOBxsFFsCalLIUaDjXTh8ldOa5bNKR4/s1600/papaeddie2.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463429216976708194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRbqioPzxRwJhkRCBzf-r8kLQMXBxXC-M7apLehOpmH0z1EY-v95jUgPUYmomDZNr_-hXD6f4MTKgy6ddvi0R2PG2EZRnf1A6JHvc3cAT0XJ5iXOBxsFFsCalLIUaDjXTh8ldOa5bNKR4/s320/papaeddie2.bmp" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, like most women, JuJu isn't in any of these pics because she was taking the picture! THANKS JuJu for snapping these pics. <br /><br />Hard to believe how much the babies have grown, huh? I am starting to get asked if they are twins more and more often as they are relatively the same size now.<br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-34729006033287706242010-04-22T16:34:00.001-07:002010-04-22T17:01:22.254-07:00MelanomaSo, I had a *little* scare a few weeks ago and I thought I would share my experiences with you.<br /><br />It all started April 1. My youngest twin, Luke, had been referred to a plastic surgeon/dermatologist for a consult on a birthmark that had been on his belly since birth. Over the years, it has grown quite a bit, changed texture, changed color, etc. We had seen several derms over the years, but since our insurance had changed, it was time to find a new doctor. Our pediatrician referred us to this new doctor, Dr. C, to let her have a look. She took one look and immediately decided it needed to come off, so he had surgery earlier this year. Luckily, the pathology on the birthmark was clear. I was so impressed with her, I decided to check her out for myself. This all leads me to the office visit I had with her on April 1.<br /><br />As she looked over a few spots that had been removed previously (see that post <a href="http://breagirl.blogspot.com/2007/05/cancer.html">HERE</a>), she mentioned that I shouldn't need a full body scan because I had been to my last doctor within the last 6 months. I looked at her puzzled and I think she immediately realized, I had NEVER had a full body scan. "You've never had a doctor look over your body for suspicious moles?" she asked. Nope. Never thought to ask for one, and the previous derms have never asked to do one, so I really had never even considered that this might be something of importance. Never mind that I have had 3 spots removed over the last 3 years.<br /><br />She immediately told me to disrobe and for all you ladies out there, well...let's just say I wasn't "prepared" to get naked. But I did. And she found 5 spots that "she really didn't like the looks of" She went on to discuss melanoma, how she wanted them off ASAP and proceeded to book me on April 14 to have them cut off. I left the appointment feeling uneasy. How had I not realized the spots didn't look "normal"....why had I never thought about having a doctor examine the rest of my body? I called J and sobbed to him, but then quickly composed myself as I realized that God was just as much in control at that moment as he was before she identified those 5 spots. Oh, and for those of you that were wondering: the reason they were "weird" is that they aren't raised like a "normal" mole, the color is dark and inconsistant throughout, and they are not perfectly round...in fact, they appeared like a blot of ink.<br /><br />J and I drove in silence to the office on the 14th. I think we were both a little more nervous than we let on, especially because I knew the doctor was not normally in the office that day, but she had come in specifically to remove these spots. When I arrived, the nurse let us know that our insurance would only cover 3 spots to be removed at one time and Dr. C had decided that the two on my upper back and one on my belly were the most important to remove. The nurse applied the numbing cream and we waited for Dr. C to arrive (she had been in surgery all morning).<br /><br />The procedures weren't that bad. I'm sure the numbing cream helped. J sat on the chair across the room and admitted later that he tried not to look as she put needles in me to numb the spots. He said he glanced my way long enough to see a bloody stitch coming up and decided that was all he needed to see. I left nice and numb with a promise from the doctor that I would get a call with the results as soon as she got them. I came home and surfed the net. Bad idea. Those spots DID look like the spots they showed on melanoma sites. I stopped surfing the net. I did talk to two friends on the phone who are both melanoma survivors. Both were AMAZING and gave me all the info I needed to not feel so scared of a diagnosis.<br /><br />Finally, on Tuesday, I got the call from the doctor. No Melanoma. I felt like I let out enough air to fill my lungs for an eternity. I don't think I realized until that moment how much I had subconciously worried. The bad news? They are dysplastic which means that aren't normal. The worse news? On one of the spots, they didn't get "clear margins" which means they didn't get it all and in her opinion, it would have turned into melanoma, so I have to go back May 14th to get more of that area removed. She is also going to cut out the other two spots that day. She feels confident that they will come back the same as these last three, but it's important to go ahead and get them off before they do get funky.<br /><br />I guess the reason I am typing this is that I want people reading this to be more proactive than I was. If you have a spot that looks odd, go to a doctor and get it checked out. If you need one in Nashville, shoot me a message...I think Dr. C is great and would be happy to pass on her number. A big thank you to those of you that knew about this and were praying for us...we felt it and that is the only reason that I was so calm in this whole process!Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5305306990826063612.post-11354643915374798682010-02-12T10:59:00.000-08:002010-02-12T13:44:52.070-08:00Yellow Teeth, Lung Butter, Etc.A few more random thoughts from me....<br /><br />I didn't realize until I really looked at the pic above how yellow Isaac's teeth look. I showed him the picture and I think he finally realized why I stay on them about brushing their teeth. We go to the dentist every 6 months and it's a miracle, but so far, none of the kids have had a cavity. One of my regrets is not taking better care of my teeth growing up, so I hope this was all the wake up call he needed. I promise his teeth are not normally that yellow.<br /><br />My migraines have been almost non-existant since I started with the chiropractor a few weeks ago. Yes, I was skeptic, but it's been amazing how a few adjustments in my neck have stopped the migraines dead in their tracks. Right now I am going once a week, but I just love the doctor and I feel fabulous in the headache department. I do think I am trying really hard to get another sinus infection which seems to come about every 6 months. As Angie V. calls it, I've been coughing up some lung butter so I'm sure I'll be good and sick by this time next week.<br /><br />I've had a lot of mixed emotions the last few days about how I should stop putting my thoughts out there so openly. Not necessarily on this blog, but I've had a few friends ask things along the line of "what would Brea do" and I find that my answers tend to be completely opposite what they were thinking and I end up feeling like I am putting my gigantic foot in my mouth. I know they wouldn't ask if they didn't want my opinion, but I do end up feeling like a butt when my advice isn't in line with what they were thinking. At the end of the day, I want to know I was being real, but on the flip side I certainly don't want to hurt others with my thoughts or feelings.<br /><br />One of the other things I have been thinking and praying a lot about: do I have a different view on adoption simply because we were fertile? Would I feel differently about the whole process if J and I had never been able to conceive children? In reality, I honestly don't know what infertility feels like. I welcome feedback on this (heck, I welcome feedback on anything I talk about!) I do remember J and I talking when we first started the process before Mary Elizabeth and we felt very convicted about the type of child we would like to adopt. We certainly didn't want to take a healthy, white infant away from another couple who couldn't conceive so we chose to be more open when it came to the child that we would adopt. Sure enough, we were the only couple open to M.E.'s specific situation and I think somewhere deep down, it made me feel good to know that it wasn't an us vs. them type situation.<br /><br />So that's what is rolling around in my head in the last few days. If you have an extra minute, please say a prayer for a friend of mine, H. She and her husband are in the midst of a domestic adoption where the birthmother is in limbo about whether or not to sign TPR. The baby is now a week old and this situation is very hard on everyone involved. I'm sure they would be so thankful for your prayers!Breahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01518761061429680489noreply@blogger.com4