Goodbye, Saint

We've had some trauma here lately at Casa Long.

We've had our dog, Saint, for about six years. The King and I got him from the Humane Society just after we moved into our house. He is a beautiful dog. Shiny and black, with the build of a lab mixed with a great dane. He's very big. He has all the typical annoying dog traits. He drools, he barks at bunnies out the window, his tail hurts LIKE THE DICKENS if you get in it's way, he sheds what appears to be all his hair every. single. day. But he is a comfort when I'm home alone. He loves the girls and has always been gentle and kind with them.

In early November, I was in my bath room putting on make up. I did not know that Squeeze had grabbed a bag of Halloween candy off the table and was going to town sitting on the floor in the dining room. Saint laid down beside her for his share. Squiggled walked in and saw Saint with the candy. Being the oldest daughter that she is, she reached to take it from him. And he growled, barked, and bit her. She ran screaming into my room. The kind of screaming where she couldn't catch her breath. I had heard the growl and bark, so I feared the worst.

Sure enough. Squiggle had blood on her lip, under her eye, and near her temple. It actually didn't bleed too much, but it looked scary. The puncture wound near her temple looked so deep I felt like I was looking at her skull. (I wasn't.) Under her eye was like a slit of open skin, and her lip seemed just like a little scratch.

After some phone calls to my mom, The King, and our pediatrician, I threw everyone in the car and we headed to the ER. Squeeze stayed with Grandma, and The King went with us. It was a long day, as it always is, at the ER. In the end, Squiggle got five stitches. It was traumatic. She was such a good little patient, but getting stitches in your face is no fun. There was lots of holding down, freaking out, and tears from all of us.

During all this trauma in the ER, in all our parenting wisdom, we ended up telling Squiggle that we probably would not be able to keep Saint. Her eyes grew three times their size, filled with tears, and her heart broken voice said, "Why can't we KEEP him?" I have no idea what we were thinking. It was terrible timing. We like to be honest with our kids, but there's nothing wrong with saving your honesty for the right moment.

It was a miserable week after that. Deciding what to do with our dog, and still having to take care of him was difficult. For the first couple days, every time I looked at him I cried. I was mad at him, and I was worried about what to do with him.

I cried a LOT that week. Home should be a haven. Pets should be life enriching additions to our families. My child was bit in the face, in our home, by our family dog. The trauma of it was unsettling for me. Squiggle appeared to bounce back well, like lots of kids do. We are thankful the bite wasn't worse, and thankful that he didn't bite Squeeze instead. Eight hours in the ER with a two year old would have been WAY worse.

Squiggle was a great patient.

We made the decision to say goodbye to Saint, forever (if you know what I'm saying). Our vet was supportive, our friends were supportive, it seemed the responsible thing to do. But a neighbor of a friend heard our sad story, and asked if we'd be interested in re-homeing him with her instead. She had experience with large dogs who needed rehabilitation, and was looking for a guard dog and companion. It seemed the perfect scenario so we did it. Sadly, it did not go well. So now we are really saying goodbye, (if you know what I'm saying). However, if Squiggle or Squeeze ask, Saint is at Joanne's house, (if you know what I'm saying).

Squiggle seems fine with the whole thing. She has said, "I miss Saint." But she has also said, "I'm glad Saint's gone. So we can get a new dog someday." Squeeze seems ok, too. I'm worried she will be afraid of dogs since I believe she witnessed the whole event, but so far so good. We have friends with a large german shephard, and we plan on letting her spend time with her to hopefully help prevent the fear. We don't plan on getting a new dog any time soon. Although I do have an entire Pinterest board called "Dogs".

The storm has passed and settled now. But, oi, it was a bit of a doozy. I wouldn't have expected it to be so difficult, but it really was. I'm so glad it's over. What kind of pet storms have you been through?

This Works For Me: Getting Out The Door

In place of sharing things I'd like to do with my girls, and then falling short on my plans and looking stupid, (here's one)  I thought I'd share some little mom tricks that actually work for me, because I actually do them. Not just plan to do them from ideas I found on Pinterest.

Getting out the door on time with a two year old and a four year old is tricky. Doable, but tricky. Sometimes when I show up at an event, I kind of expect an award to be handed to me as I walk through the door just for getting us all there alive. And dressed in more than Rapunzel panties.

Here's how I do it. I get the girls ready first. Clothes on, hair brushed, shoes and socks ON, extra clothes packed in my purse, faces wiped clean. Then I let them play or watch tv while I get myself ready. You see, I've been getting myself ready for thirty years. I know how long it will take me. I can manage that time well. Even when I'm short on time, I know what make up item to skip so I'm in the car on time, and if I need a pony tail instead of finished hair. My girls, on the other hand, are all kinds of unpredictable. I may think I can get them ready in 20 minutes or less. Some days that works. But other days, I can't find their shoes. Or Squiggle needs her hair brushed and that curly mess was rattier than I thought. Or Squeeze has an opinion on what shirt she wants to wear, and I have picked NONE of them. Or the book they are looking at is WAY more interesting than obeying their mother and coming to the bathroom. Or someone trips on carpet and smacks their nose on the little pink stool. Things happen.

If I am all ready to go out the door and am just waiting on them, things get frustrating. There are usually tears. I don't always use kind words. I get annoyed at them when they're just being kids. It's not pretty. A two year old and a four year old can not be trusted to be ready in ten minutes. Unless you're overly prepared, which I never am. Getting the girls ready first allows me to go more at their pace, and not freak out when something comes up. They still have to obey, but I am much more reasonable with them. Less yelling, and more peace. Always a mother's goal, right?

Heads up, this didn't work when the girls were babies. If I got them ready first, they inevitably pooped or puked on their cute outfit before we got out the door. But it works for my toddler and preschooler. How do you get out the door?

When You're Pregnant Without a Due Date

Being pregnant is no walk in the park. I was not one of those women who glowed through every trimester. I was sick all through the first, enjoyed the second, and hated the third. I wanted to be one of those women who loved it, but I wasn't.

You know what was great about being pregnant, though? Having a due date. Knowing this will all end, one way or another, at a predictable time. Feeling the baby move rocks, too. On those days when I felt fat, and exhausted, and rather whiny, all I needed was a little tiny flutter of a knee or elbow to remind me it was worth it.

I am not frustrated, not even antsy about our adoption. I am just wondering. Wondering with a little, tiny ache in my heart. When is this baby going to come? Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying the HECK out of Squiggle and Squeeze right now. They are both growing up so much, leaving babyhood behind them and becoming so much easier to care for. Squiggle and I have actual conversations. Squeeze can express to me what she wants. It's awesome. But when I walk by teeny, tiny newborn clothes at Target my heart aches for a baby to fill them.

This ache is two fold, I realize. The first fold is an ache I will always have. I think most women, for most of their lives, are either longing for, or remembering, tiny babies. Teeny tiny baby clothes will always be adorable, and will always make me think of when my girls were teeny tiny. They will always make me squeal on the inside. But the second fold of that ache is a tangible desire for our third child to join the family.

The ache for Number Three was really getting to me recently. So much so that I thought to myself, "You know...we could just get pregnant." (Yes, I'm oversharing again.) How nice would it be to know exactly when the baby was coming? And to know it would be a teeny, tiny newborn. And to be able to breast feed. And to know exactly what kind of in utero experience the baby had. And to spend two glorious days in that hotel of a hospital breathing in new baby smell.

*At this point I would like to point out how EXTREMELY personal this decision is. What we decide as a family, is simply what we decide. In the exact same scenario, your family may come to a different conclusion and it will be the exactly right decision for you. Also, I'm aware that this dilema is not extremely common among adoptive families. Many families who decide to adopt come to the decision from a place of infertility. I want you to know that I am aware that the fact that I could just decide on a whim to have a baby biologically is annoying to you. It's ok, you have the right to be annoyed.*

Squiggle at the zoo that day.

So here's how cool God is. I woke up one morning thinking, "I want to have a baby so bad. If we're supposed to keep waiting to adopt I need God to, like, give me a sign or something. I need some confirmation that we're doing the right thing." I didn't actually ASK Him for a sign, I just half thought it. And, you know what? God heard my half thought.

So am I pregnant? No. Did we get THE call from our agency? No. That would be a really great ending to this story, wouldn't it?

Nope. Here's what happened... That day I went to the zoo. And at the zoo I ran into a lady I met months ago at an adoption information meeting hosted by Kara Higgins. And not just that one lady. She was with two other adoptive moms. Between the three of them, they had five or six awesome boys from Ethiopia running around their feet. We didn't say much. I updated her on where we were at in our adoption journey. She was so glad I stopped her to say hi. That was it. And that was all I needed. When I told The King this story he said, somewhat disappointedly, "So that was your sign?"

Yes. Yes, it was. I know God led my steps that day so I would run into her...and feel my baby move.

Random Life Updates

Switching Squeeze (she turns two in November) to her big girl bed has been crazy easy. I'm kind of bummed because I have no great stories to tell. We had one day of training her, and have had zero problems since. I was nervous it may be more difficult since the girls share a room. But Squiggle (she turns four in November) has been really good about it, as well. The first few nights we would occasionally hear Squiggle say to Squeeze, "Get back in bed." Pretty cute.

Wondering how we did during our first 8 weeks of home school? Ummmmm...there were some things that worked and some things that didn't. Basically, if I didn't plan the week on Sunday night, then we didn't end up doing any purposeful activities. Plan. Plan. Plan. That was my number one lesson learned through failure. I had multiple reminders on my phone to do Bible each morning, Spanish class every afternoon, and read a book to Nola every afternoon. But I didn't have a plan for any of those things so I never did them. On the weeks I made plans, though, we always did them. That surprised me a little. Everyone is different. I learned that for me planning=success.

So what worked? Scripture memorization. Squiggle caught on so quickly to memorization. It's easier to pull of than I thought, too. All we had to do was recite the verse together about three times a day. We would say it at eating times, in the car, before bed, etc. Squiggle memorized Psalm 19:1 and John 3:16. She could've done more if I'd PLANNED. :) Toward the end of the eight weeks we just kept reciting the ones she'd learned to commit them more solidly to her memory. Scripture memorization was easy to do while doing things that were already in our routine. I think that's why it worked so well.

We love our zoo!

Best dad ever.

A snuggly day for Squeeze.

In Chicago with my sister, Serenity.

We have already started our next eight week session, and I'm already behind. We just came off two very busy weekends and I'm in lay low mode. I have to pull myself together or we'll never get anything done. Things I plan to focus on are Spanish lessons, and planning plenty of quiet time activities for Squiggle's afternoon rest time. Much to my chagrin, she does not take an afternoon nap. It's obvious she needs down time, though. Watching tv or movies is an easy solution, but I'm not sure it's actually helping her little brain rest. Any quiet time ideas for me?

We are still waiting for a referral from foster care. I pray for our baby often, but do not feel frantic about getting the baby here. I feel quite peaceful that God is going to work everything together. We are enjoying the season with just Squeeze and Squiggle, and trusting God's timing.

I started running. Stop laughing. I found a Couch to 5K running plan on Pinterest and am following that. I am actually really enjoying it. I feel great on the days I go for a run. I am hoping that once I complete the entire 10 week training program I will have earned myself a cute runner girl outfit. *Update. I got sick halfway through the ten weeks and stopped running. But I am still planning on jumping in again! I loved it so much. For real.

My husband is still a great dad. And looks hot when he plays the bass. He is still helping friends make indie short films, and other various video projects.

Overall, we are loving our life. How's yours?

Squeeze's Big Girl Bed

Yesterday afternoon we took the side off Squeeze's crib and put up the toddler rail. We did this because 1) we may need her crib for a new baby and 2) she's getting too heavy to heave in and out of that thing! When I was pregnant with Squeeze (our second), we moved Squiggle (our first) to a toddler bed at a pretty early age. I had heard that it might be better for a child who's handing their bed down to a younger sibling, to not make the change at the same time as the baby's arrival. Baby comes home from hospital, big sister gets the boot. Traumatizing. Makes sense.

Squiggle did great with the change. We had zero problems with her. No tears. No fighting. We joked that somehow she still thought she couldn't get out. Eventually she did figure out how to get up and turn her light on so she could read books and play. We often didn't discover her until WE were going to bed at 10! Sometimes, her light would be on and we would go in to turn it off and she would be sound asleep in her bed. Overall, so easy with her.

Squeeze is a different person. She enjoys life. She likes her independence. She likes to run. She likes to get reactions out of us. She likes to try things.

The first night went fairly well. Two seconds after closing their door for the night, Squeeze came running down the hallway with this look on her face that said, "Sweet! I can get out of here!" We told her otherwise. She was disappointed. We had to go in maybe twice more? Both girls were asleep in under an hour. This morning, Squeeze let herself out of her room half asleep. It wasn't much earlier than normal, but I think we may be in for a few early mornings with her in the future.

We are in the middle of the first nap time now. I have had to lay her down three times, I think. Poor thing was crying as if she didn't know what to do with herself. New boundaries are scary.

I think she is finally asleep...

Why Do You Blog?

Do you want to know why I blog?

I started because my mother told me I was a wonderful writer and should definitely get a blog. She has also told me I could be President if I wanted. And she may have once mentioned that I would make a great rhythm gymnast. She's a believer.

Once I started, I realized most of my blogs were about being a mom. So I decided to focus in and write mostly on that topic. It has evolved into a slightly personal journal that I publish on the internet for all the world to read. If you've read my blog a while, you know that I occasionally get on a soap box and tell you how best to live your life. But, mostly I write the stories of my life with my husband and my girls.

The funny thing is, I would never keep a journal if it was a notebook on my nightstand for no one to see until I'm gone. Knowing you all occasionally peek into my life motivates me to keep writing. I can't wait to hear your commentary on my life. If for no other reason than to show off, I write. And that's just the honest truth.

Sometimes I worry that my readers will think this is the only reason I write. To show off. (This thinking shows you how full of myself I am, assuming you think my girls and my life are brilliant.) But it's worth it to me. Because, in the end, even if my undercurrent motives are showing off, I still have this record of my life that is invaluable to me. I already read old posts and reminisce about the girls as tiny babies. I can't wait until they are older and can read the posts I've written about how much I love their dad. The posts I love most are the ones with the super boring details of our days that probably make you guys stab your eyeballs in boredom. They are gold to me.

I keep writing because I can't wait to hear what you think about my potty trained 19 month old. I am dying to hear your comments on the crazy thing Squiggle said to me the other day. I'm assuming you care. So I keep writing. And I'm so thankful that I do.

One of my grandmothers is 92. She is still in good spirits, but often does talk of wondering when she will get to go Home. A lot of her memories have slipped away, although she still recognizes people. She knows who my mom and dad are, but she has no recollection of being at their wedding. I have heard her say, "I wish I remembered all these stories you're all talking about!"

That is why I blog. Someday, I might not remember.

I don't care if I never have more than 100 readers. I'll keep writing. For me. For my girls. But I do need you 100 readers to stick with me. Let me show off a little. When I'm 90, I will be thanking you for listening so I had some good reading to get me through my last few years here.

And, Lord, please don't let the Internet break.

Getting Calls

My husband, Ryan, and I were licensed as foster parents in May. We are hoping to adopt an infant through the foster care system. We are willing to foster and see where the road leads, but in the end we are hoping we will be a forever family for some one.

So far we have gotten three calls. The first time we didn't have a chance to say yes or no. The second time we said no. The third time we said yes.

The first call came at 2 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday night. I hadn't seen the number before on my phone. My groggy self assumed it was a wrong number. But I couldn't fall asleep thinking it might be foster care calling. I sent a text to the number and they responded immediately. I stumbled into the kitchen to call them back. They were looking to place a baby and a child. We would have said no, but while I was on the phone the lady received a text and the kids were covered. It was nice to not have to say no for our first call. We would have said no because we don't feel our family is prepared to care for any children older than our youngest, for the long term. But it was nice to have the experience of getting a call without having to say yes or no. The next morning I told Ryan, "We got our first call last night." He thought I was joking. He slept through the whole thing. At first, I didn't think the call upset me too much, but as the day wore on I found myself a little shaken. Just knowing that somewhere in my city, in the middle of the night, two little kids were taken from their home because it wasn't safe. It's heartbreaking. I felt sad for the kids, and for the parents.

The second call came on a Thursday afternoon. I was in a meeting planning the dates and venue for a concert we'll be doing to celebrate the release of my first album. I apologetically excused myself saying, "This might be foster care." They were looking for a home for a toddler girl, whose case was moving towards adoption. I called Ryan. We decided the age difference between the toddler and Squeeze wasn't quite enough. I called back and told them no.

I then proceeded to feel like crap all afternoon.

I thought of a million ways we could make it work. I thought through all our reasons for the age difference, and questioned every single one of them. I knew it was the right decision for our family but thought, "Who's going to make the right decision for her?" The need overwhelmed me, even though I knew, deep down, it wasn't our need to fill. Ry and my sister reminded me that a little toddler girl was probably some other foster family's exact hope. By evening, I was ok with it all. I felt peaceful about our decision, and confident that the girl had been placed. We are, after all, not the only foster parents in this city. It was an emotional few hours. I hadn't expected it would be so difficult to say no.

The very next Friday we received our third call. I was in the check out line at Hy-Vee and ignored the call. I checked the voice mail as soon as I got in the van. This time they were looking to place an infant girl with some medical issues. I called them right back. She was definitely young enough for our family, and I was a little excited. Her medical issues seemed manageable. I called Ry, and he had some hesitations due to her medical issues, but his sister, who is a nurse, was with him and he got advice from her. I went to see my sister, who has handled similar medical issues with her preemie. A good friend who is a nurse, was also there and they both made me feel quite capable that we could handle it. With this baby's case we also knew that it was foster only, it was not moving towards adoption. For some reason I just felt we were supposed to say yes anyway. Ryan agreed and I called them to say yes. They told us that there was another family interested, and they would call us one way or the other. I hadn't really thought of that. As you can tell from my emotional reaction after our second call, in the heat of the moment I seem to think I am the only foster parent in this entire city. Even though I know this is not true because I'm friends with quite a few awesome foster parents. To make a long, few hours of washing baby clothes and making sure I had directions to the baby's daycare, short...they didn't choose us.

I was disappointed, and, honestly, a little relieved. I was a little let down, but happy to be just us and the girls for a little while longer. I felt a tiny tinge of sadness, but was so happy to know there was another family who wanted her. What a blessing it would be if our city was so over loaded with foster parents, there was always ten homes for every child.  By evening, I was tired from the emotional roller coaster, but I was fine.

Getting calls reminds me to take advantage of every day I have just me and the girls. We could get THE call any second. I'll continue to pray for the baby who will be placed with us, and their parents. It'll happen. I believe God has a perfect plan. Yeah, I'm cheesy like that.