It's a girl!

37 pounds
37 1/2 inches...

The adoption was today. We, her parents, are over the moon.

As for Lucia, she says she is, "so very happy!" She saw the judge, ate some cake, and jumped on a trampoline. It's a great big whalloping happy day.

Some joys are beyond expression, as any parent knows.

We have a court date...

The adoption will be on July 25!

Wonder of wonders, she will be ours and we will be hers, by law as it is by love.

7 Quick Takes

Jennifer Fulwiler, the blogger of Conversion Diary, had her lovely wonderful beautiful baby! I'm not going to post a picture for purely marketing reasons (I want you to go look at and subscribe to her blog).

1 - The Adoption Worker said, "Call your lawyer!" which means we are nearly done pushing the state's paperwork and have to start pushing our own. She also began talking about the judge and a date--which means we are very, very close!

2 - She is only 4 years old and has a case file over 700 pages long. I'm in the 300s. It's required reading. Even though I know this story and there is nothing new here, it's hard reading.

3 - The child described in the case files looks very different than the daughter asleep down the hall. My daughter is not wary and untrusting and given to tantrums like the poor child in these pages. Circumstances can really change a person. Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes all it takes to fix a person is to improve the circumstance.

4 - Would you consider adopting an older child? Would you consider becoming a foster parent? I have to ask because it might be you who needs asking. Not everyone is called, but the called do need calling. Sometimes all that is lacking is the invitation. You have been invited.

5 - We usually homeschool throughout the summer, but the past few weeks have been a vacation of sorts. With the adoption and the new house coming next month, it's going to be really hard to get it the ball rolling. I think I'm going to have to grind the grind and get going anyway.

6 - We bought the trap, baited it, and the skunk got our last chicken anyway. My husband went on-line, stared at a few chicken coop pictures and then sat down and designed a coop that we can shut up and lock at night. He's smart like that. The problem is solved as long as I remember to go lock up the chickens when they've roosted. Maybe I should needlepoint a chicken on my pillowcase to help me remember this new chore.


7 - For the entire week I have exercised every stinking 100-degree day. Yay for me and self-discipline and the neighbor who won't let me get away with sloth! I'm actually waiting around for said neighbor to come by for our walk and talk. Two miles, fast paced, and all the world's problems get solved in the process. Exercise is a good thing when it's over.

Due to the demands of the newest Fulwiler, 7 Quick Takes is hosted at Betty Beguiles this week, 

a new-to-me blog! 

I think I have a new addiction!

One of these kids is getting adopted...

By the end of July she will be as legally a Martin as she is in every other sense of the word--brave little darling!

Today is the second of the three required visits from the social worker, so I'm going to vacuum and putter around nervously. All day. 

7 Quick Takes

1 The dog is being fixed this morning. He is staring at me with those Labrador eyes, perhaps pondering, "What is broken?" Nothing yet, puppy. Nothing yet.

(random internet pic--not my dog, not my sectional)
((seriously, do you think I'd do off-white with 5 children?))

2 Once I had a dog who wore the "Cone of Shame" after a vet visit. Grandma Ella (the relation is too complicated to explain without another post), upon seeing her, scolded me for letting the dog get herself tangled up with my lampshades. She didn't like the explanation of the cone any better than her supposition. "It just looks silly." My dog agreed with her.

3 Although the dog does not like the cone, the children do. I will spend much of the next three or four days watching that the children do not steal the cone to wear as a fashion accessory. Think Queen Elizabeth...

4 Speaking of dogs, I woke up to barking at 5 a.m. It was the toddler.

5 On a different note, I am enjoying the company of children. I'm babysitting the younger three children of a dear friend. There are eight children, 7 and younger, running around the ugly yellow trailer. It's my contribution to the effort to get ready for the Pro-Life Banquet on Sunday. My friend makes blankets for the Pregnancy Center. Please go look. It's a good idea and there's a picture of one of my children on the site. Isn't she cute?

6 I've always found that in a certain sense, the more children there are, the more work there is, but the easier the burden. I guess I was just made to be a kid wrangler. Babysitting and having eight little ones around is stirring the pot and making me anxious to finish the house so we can foster more children.

7 Speaking of fostering. There is not really an update on the adoption of our fosterchild, Sissy, just news that the paperwork is finally starting to trickle in. If you ever do foster, keep every scrap of paper on every child--the only accessible copies in the system were in my hands due to her going out of the system at the last "permanent" family placement. Everything got boxed up and archived at that point. Once her social worker and I were able to figure that out, we could get the ball rolling again. The adoption won't be in April as hoped. Perhaps by the end of summer. It looks like the April court date will now be merely another placement review hearing, possibly the last of its kind?

Adoption Thought

Here's my thought of the day...you know how people always have a vague fear of adoption? You can hear it in the thought "I would consider it, but you never know what you're going to get." I agree completely. You never know. And did you know the only child I have out of five that has special needs was born to me? All children, born or brought into your home, are a surprise.

If you know anyone even vaguely toying with the "A" word, here's a book you can read and pass along.

In Adoption psychologist, husband, and father of 10 adopted children, Dr. Ray Guarendi, considers the most commonly asked adoption questions with insight, humor, and understanding. He's been there and done that ten times over!

I've got an autographed copy. Click here to read more.

Oven Jambalaya and Adopting a Lousiana Heritage

My biological stepfather introduced me to Jambalaya, but before I share the recipe I'd better untangle the relationship we had.

I was adopted as an infant. When I was 18, my birth mother tracked me down and we began a slow process of getting to know one another. She was married to a man named Royal Peter. He was my biological stepfather; not related to me at all really, except by marriage and by an accident of birth, and through the efforts of two families to get to know each other after 18 years of never having met before. He's been gone now for years, and one of the many ways he influenced me was through food.

When I met him I was of the mind that if I had to cook the food, it wasn't worth eating. I was right about that! I disdained all things feminine and wanted to prove my point to the point that I was actually proud of being a horrible cook. He was a Louisianne and French enough in his outlook that he considered food a heritage. That idea eventually intrigued me enough to start experimenting with my own cultural heritage--Southern cooking, among others. In a way, he planted a seed that is still growing. I love the creativity of cooking and I really love the silence that descends as the first bite of something incredible hits the taste buds and takes control of the brain for a split second before the, "Oh! Wow!" or "Mmmm!" noises begin.

My first exposure to Jambalaya came during a conversation about an impending lunch. I was working on my biological family's ranch at the time. I was outdoors and about a mile from any buildings and by some quirk of necessity and planning I had no transportation. He was the one sent to get me for lunch.

Since it was early spring I was working on sprinklers. Since it was California it was early February. Since it was early February it was nearly Mardi Gras. Since it was nearly Mardi Gras, Roy was missing Louisiana. If he was missing Louisiana, he was going to talk about it. Being hungry he was going to talk about food, too. Since it took me a bit to work myself to a stopping point and since it was a one-person job, he leaned against the bumper of his truck to chat. That's the round about way he got on the subject of food storage in the steamy state.

He said that the week started with roasts on Sunday, sausage and beans on Tuesday, chicken on Wednesday, fish or shrimp on Friday, and leftovers on the days in between. On Saturday, anything leftover from the week that hadn't turned (or had hardly turned), got put into a jumble in a pot, spiced to perfection, and was called Jambalaya. The conversation and the remains of the job took about 20 minutes from start to finish. I could almost taste the talk. He was so descriptive in that Southern gentlemanly way of his, and I was such a foodie even then when I didn't know it yet, I could smell and see all the dishes he described. I've been hunting through Jambalaya recipes looking for him ever since.

So nowadays, whenever I stir the colors of rice and beans, when I smell bay leaf and cayenne I am there again with him in his cowboy hat, big buckle, and boots leaning against the bumper of his truck, his arms crossed and his eyes far away.

Here's our latest conversation:

Oven Jambalaya

3 cups water
1 1/2 cup uncooked regular rice
1 can corn (drained)
1 can diced tomatoes
1 small can diced peppers
1 small onion diced
1 package kielbasa or Italian sausage sliced into half inch disks*
1/2 pound cooked ground beef or breakfast sausage*
1/2 pound cooked chicken shredded or diced*
1/2 pound fresh shrimp peeled and deveined*
2 tsp chili powder
2 cloves garlic crushed
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp thyme
2 bay leaves
dash of cayenne pepper (to taste)
salt and pepper to taste

Combine ingredients in a lightly greased baking dish, cover and bake at 375 degrees for 1 hour. Yields 8 servings.

*The meats for Jambalaya are both interchangeable and optional. When I made this the first time, the meats I had on hand were kielbasa and beef hot dogs. I sliced them up and put them in the dish. Mmmm! I recommend making a Jambalaya in the traditional way whenever you have a bit of this and a bit of that leftover to make a jumble in the pot. Throw in leftover veggies, too, especially leftover okra!

Serves with cornbread muffins and a green salad anytime!

Which Side Are You On?

I can’t believe my ears. I am having a conversation with a Pro-Lifer, and he has just explained, very calmly, that I have no right to exist.


"What?" I say, unbelieving. I must have misheard him.


"Of course abortion is wrong. Of course! But..." And here he shrugs, "When a woman is raped? Or if there is incest? Surely, we have to have compassion for her situation."


"Compassion? How is abortion ever compassionate?" I am flabbergasted and am having a bit of trouble stating my point. I get that way. It’s why I don’t evangelize as much as I should.


"Oh, I’m sure it would be a difficult choice. It may even be hard to live with after. But a woman can’t be expected to bear the child of her rapist." He looks so sure of himself. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he has taken up the language of the other side to explain his point.


"Huh?" I manage. Like I said, I’m really not good at this stuff.


"I’m just saying that it would be devastating to spend nine months harboring the child of the man who raped you. Can you imagine that?" the man shakes his head sadly.


"So," I begin slowly, to give my brain a chance to kick out of emotional gear and back into logic, "you feel a woman should abort depending on her feelings for the father of her child?"


He shakes his head again, irritated I’ve jumped to a conclusion he doesn’t like. "No, what I mean is that a woman who has had violence committed against her, a crime against her, she shouldn’t have to bear the product of that crime."


Again, that funny echo of language from the Pro-Aborts. "You’ve renamed a baby," I point out. "You just called it a ‘product of a crime.’"


"That’s not what I meant! You know what I mean!" He’s beginning to dislike this conversation as much as I do.


Good.


"Did you know I was adopted?" I ask him. He blinks at me, struck dumb at my seeming non sequitur. "I’ve met my birth mother, too."


I smile. He shakes his head a little as if trying to jiggle together the sense of my sudden tangent. I decide to add another tangent. "You’ve met my kids right?" His eyes are getting that slightly worried look, but he nods. "Nice kids, I think. And I’ve adopted, too. Yeah," I sigh. "I wonder if my daughter would have spent her life in foster care. Not too many people were lining up to adopt her, you know. Just us."


I stop talking. He says, "Um," and raises a finger. There’s a look in my eyes he doesn’t much like. It’s a hurt and disappointed look. I know, because I’m the one letting it show. I always feel it when I hear this argument from the Life side.


"My mother was raped."


I let that sink in for a moment, then I walk away. I don’t have the civility or good sense to continue. If I did I’d explain that my birth mother wasn’t particularly noble or courageous. She just knew I was a baby. I was her baby and even though her husband tried to force her to abort, she didn’t. She was an OB-GYN nurse and knew there was no such thing as a safe abortion. So, like I said, it wasn’t so noble. Mostly self-preservation and part whim.


She is a very whimsical woman in a lot of ways. She has the modern disease of the worship of the self, like we all do to some degree, and she has remade herself many times over. I’m actually very lucky.


At her whim I could have been torn limb from limb until I bled to death, never heard, never known. At her whim my children would never have been. At her whim, my adopted daughter would most likely have become a permanent ward of the state and been raised in foster care until she aged out at 18. I was a school teacher, known in my school for "saving" the kids who were severe discipline problems. What would have become of all those kids? Think It’s a Wonderful Life. At her whim, how many would have wound up expelled, jailed, lost because they never "bought into school"? Of course I never think of these things quickly enough to really, really drive home my point.


I’m here. I was here the moment I was conceived. My mother would not have been better off by having the violence of abortion performed on her already violated body. She was able to go to sleep at night, after the fear and anger simmered down, because she had not lashed out against me because of the harm done to her.


Life is a gift, even when the start of it is a horror. My mother was able to heal more completely from her rape knowing she had chosen the better part. She was not a twice over victim.


And in case you are wondering, I don’t have some deep psychological scar because my father was a rapist. He was a sperm donor. The man who raised me was my father. And unlike most every movie I’ve seen depicting adoption, I’m not some crazed time bomb waiting to reveal my true nature as damaged goods. Well, at least not any more than the rest of you. I mean, really, nobody’s perfect.

Writer's Note: If you are Post-Abortive or Post-Rape and still in anguish, please seek prayer and care. Contact http://www.rachelsvineyard.org/ for healing after abortion. Contact http://centers.rainn.org/ for a directory of local Rape Crisis Centers. God loves you and wants to comfort you in the cradle of His arms. I will pray that you let Him...