McCall

Whenever I get the itch to do a blog post, it hits me at some point during my commute to or from work.  I have 40 minutes each way, Monday through Friday, to let my mind run wild.  And today, it ran away with memories of childhood with my sister.  In honor of her 35th birthday tomorrow - yes, I just dimed you out, McCall - I would love to share some of our memories.

Ever since I can remember, I carry a constant reminder of McCall with me.  Located on the top of my right foot, just below my big toe, is giant scar. I don't know life without it.  It reminds me that she both loved and hated me growing up.  She loved me enough, on this particular day, to let me ride on the back of her Strawberry Shortcake Big Wheel while she did donuts on Granny's back porch.  On this particular day, she also hated me enough to repeatedly run over my foot, front back front back front back, until I screamed loud enough that it annoyed her enough to stop.  Pesky little sister I was ;).  I was young enough that I don't remember this one......but oh do I remember some of the others!

I put her on a pedestal at a super early age. I remember watching her put her GNR record on the record player with such care. We jammed out to Use Your Illusion more times than I can count. Her dance moves were epic and she knew EVERY word. How cool was she?! Her side ponytail was rockin' and her hoop earrings were always just big enough.  Even when we got our first Nintendo, and she whooped me every single time at Mario Brothers, I still looked up to her and dreamed of the day when I didn't move my entire body with the remote control.  Even that day when I had my parakeet on the floor next to the bed, and she stepped off and crushed his little head, and I cried for days, even then, she sat upon that pedestal.  I adored her.  Even on the day when we were at my Grandaddys house and McCall was driving the four wheeler and I was on the back. We were flying through the field behind his house and absolutely smoked one of his chickens. Oops. Turns out it was his "best laying hen" or so we were reminded. McCall quickly retorted "it jumped out from behind a rock".  Since when do chickens just jump out? Also, there wasn't a single rock within 5 miles. I stood up for her. I lied and said yes thats what happened. She got a spanking that day. I cried and cried.  Even that day, when we both lied, and she wiped her tears and tried to act like her butt cheeks didn't hurt, even then I idolized her.

There were the summers spent at home with her while Mom was at work.  My Mom would eventually have to take her phone off the hook in her office because McCall and I would literally call her every 5 minutes. "She won't share the remote!" "Mooooooom, McKenzee's eating again!"  "Mom! McCall hit me over the head with the remote!" That last one is no joke. I remember that day. We had been fighting over the TV remote all day long. All day long.  She got up to go to the bathroom and I attacked.  Victory! Until she came back and noticed that I had turned the channel from MTV to watch Murder She Wrote (don't judge). I got up off the sofa and decided to make a run for it. Let's face it. I was the chubby little sister. She was the thin, older, track star, sister.  She beat me to the door. She put me in a headlock and because I put up a fight, she fought harder. I started waving the remote around above my head thinking if it was moving she couldn't take it. WRONG! She put her hand on top of mine and started banging the remote into the top of my head. She won. 

And even with those moments, my Big Sissy held my heart. McCall struggled through her teen years. That whole "teenage daughter" warning that most parents are given when their little ones are sporting Huggies and bouncy curls was not lost on her. She was the poster child for teenage daughter nightmare. And Mom and Kenny weren't backing down. And neither was McCall. It was a constant battle of wills in our house. Who could stick it out longer. And so often times, she pulled out the "running away" card. I remember standing in our driveway one night, watching her body move further and further away from me as she followed through on her promise to leave. I ran after her, sobbing. "PLEASE come home!!!!" She sent me home, crying all the way, and she went on her way. I cried until she returned. Hours later. LONG hours later. The fights she had with my mom were EPIC!  EPIC! This one time I remember Mom and McCall were in our bathroom and McCall said something sassy to my mom so she got the ol' slap across the cheek. So McCall slapped Mom back.  And off they went. An hour later they were wrestling and screaming on McCall's bed. Hi. My name is McKenzee, and these women I'm related to don't EVER give in during a fight. Again, I cried. Screamed and cried for them to stop. My efforts were pointless. An hour after the fight, everything was fine. I was baffled.  And they were totally okay.  And so went McCalls teenage years. Boys with saggy pants, McCalls ridiculous hair cuts, this one guy that had a boombox in his front seat cause his moms car didn't have a radio in it. These were real winners!  And at 16, my parents uprooted her entire world......and sent her to a private Christian school.  And things took a turn. She started playing volleyball and basketball. Who's the girl on the front page of the sports section, doing a layup and all you notice is her bright red painted fingernails? That's McCall!  She always had her spunk. ALWAYS.  Her crazy haircuts and bad boys evolved into more preppy style and less bad boys (LOL). Around this same time, I started growing up.  And our relationship started changing. She wasn't just my big sissy anymore. She was my friend. And together, we began monopolizing our family.......as it should be.

We developed this language. It was one that only we could understand. And not like click click clucky snap snap....or sign language. Ridiculous, made up words for things that had perfectly good words to start with but ours were way more hilarious.  She was officially my partner in crime. I still laugh at her rendition of the Rolling Stones classic. She would belt out "I'll never be....your big suburban!" She sang it with such confidence!! I loved the day that I realized that was not at all what the lyrics said.  I remember the night before McCall was leaving for her Senior Class Trip to the Dominican Republic. I was devastated. There was a civil war happening just across the border in Haiti and my worrying mind had developed at an early age. I felt for sure that she wasn't coming home to me. She slept in my room that night.....because she knew I was upset.  We stayed up all night long.......singing every single Michael Jackson song we had ever heard.  I can still hear her giggling every time I sang "Heal the Worrrrrllllllld, Make it a better plaaaaaace".  It was the same giggle that would keep us up on Christmas Eve every year. She was the Santa ruiner in my life. She let me hold onto it until she just couldn't keep her mouth shut anymore......I love her for that.  She let me have it for a while.

She graduated from high school and moved out and into the world and our bond got stronger. I was the coolest middle schooler around when my big sister picked me up from school in her banana yellow CRV with the sun roof and she was blaring Metallica. I longed to be as cool as her :). And then there was Will. Will was the guy that asked my dad if he could marry McCall, and my dad said "no".  BAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA!  I remember one of my hilarious guy friends told me one night that Will appeared to be the proof for evolution. He has this perma "duh" look on his face. You know the one. His mouth was always slightly agape and he had this blank stare.  Will got this tattoo on his calf that was supposed to say William......but because his buddy with a similar IQ to Will's did the tattoo.....it actually says "Will I Am".  High five for my mom and dad for saying "no" to this guy!!!!

Cause then Nick came along. Thank you, God, for Nick!  McCall met Nick and enter whirlwind romance. Enter run down ragged pink trailer in Beaufort that they heated with their dryer. Enter the tragic death of McCalls cat......Cody. I'll never forget that.  I was a junior in high school and we were in the middle of basketball season and traveling home from some podump school in the middle of nowhere. We finally got within bag phone reception....yes, I said bag phone.....and there was a message from McCall. Screaming. Sobbing. We couldn't understand a single word she said. I thought for sure something horrible had happened to Nick.  We finally got in touch with her.  It wasn't Nick. It was the cat. She was chopping vegetables with a giganto serial killer knife and she laid the knife on the counter with handle hanging slightly off the edge. Cody was still a kitten and pretty frisky. He jumped up onto the counter and clipped the handle of the knife. He fell backward, and the knife stabbed him in the stomach. It cut his stomach open and some important things were hanging out and he ran through his litter box and hid in his crate. They took him to the after hours emergency vet and in the end, the kitty litter that he dragged his organs through, killed him.  We weren't allowed to say that cats  name until about a year ago. No lie. True story.

Nick and McCall got married and along came Triston. I was blessed to be present at his birth. After being in the room with McCall through childbirth and listening to her scream things like "I'm dyiiiiiiiiiinnnnngggg!!!!" and "get it ouuuuuttttttt!!!!!" I thought for sure she was done having kids.  And then along came Colton just 15 months later. And again, I was there, right behind the doctor, watching Gods miracle unfold.  It was during those times that we made a shift again.  We were best friends, and again, she was my hero. I've seen every single phase of her life and to watch it all result in this.....its humbling to be able to watch.  And just as my admiration grew for her and I was watching her grow and fall in love with her little family, it was time for them to move to Japan.  I was in college at the time. I was coming home almost every weekend and seeing her and the kids. I could not imagine my life with her a whole world away.  Just before they moved to Japan, McCall and Nick gave me the most amazing gift they could have ever dreamed up. They picked Jake out for me. I now realize just how well McCall knows me. When she called to tell me she had found me a date for the Marine Corps ball she told me exactly what I needed to know......"he's a really nice guy. He's a great marine.  His last name is kinda weird. His nose is just a little bit big."  He was perfect for me.  Almost 10 years later......her match is still made in heaven :)

And so off they went to Japan. I dialed that phone number so many times I still remember it. 011816117532429.  BAM! I remember listening to McCall talk about her love for Japan. She dove into the culture and soaked in every single second. That's standard McCall. She loves change. She loves diversity. She loves culture. Being young and visiting NYC with her it was like she belonged there. With all of the people and the hustle and the bustle. She fit right in. Japan was perfect for her.  After getting a small 10 day dose of the country when we visited her, I get it. We still dream about Gyoza House and the Chicken Shack together.  Because well......we love food.

From Japan they found San Diego. And along came Aubrey. And deployment. I have never ached for her the way I did when Nick left that first time. I wanted to take it all away and bring him home. And she handled it with grace and style and embraced the opportunity to get involved with her kids and her Marine Corps community.  Before San Diego was over......Peyton was on his way.  They finally made it home to Beaufort. And all was right in my world again.

And now she's in Virginia. States away from me on her special day. And I miss her every day. I miss her every time I look in the mirror and my roots are a hot mess. Nobody does my color like McCall. Nobody. She's amazing. I miss her every time I need to laugh. She can always make me laugh. We laugh our way through everything......regardless of how inappropriate our timing may be. I miss her especially a lot right now. Today.  The last time Granny got sick, McCall was here. We spent countless hours at the hospital together drinking way more coffee than should be allowed for people with nervous dispositions.  We people watched in the waiting room. We took turns hiding around corners and crying when the doctors weren't giving a hopeful diagnosis. Then we would return to tell the other one that they looked like a hot mess. We would leave the hospital at the same time and talk to each other all the way home on our cell phones.....about nothing. About everything. Because we both felt vulnerable and didn't want to think. We are perfect for allowing each other distraction.  It hurt my heart walking in that hospital today without her. So often in life, she's my hand to hold......without actually physically touching. We don't do hugging and stuff. That makes us cry ;)

I miss her especially right now today.....because she's amazing.  Because she's an incredible mother. She taught me everything I needed to know when I had Cole. And again when I had Zella. She opened her home and arms to us at any and all times. She loves my kids like they came from her womb. When I said "adoption" to her she said "yes!!!!!!".  She always encourages me. Always. From love. 

I couldn't ask for a better sister. I dream of Zella having a sister. I can't imagine life without this bond. I can't imagine my life without "red" and her antics and her strong conviction and her giant heart. I can't imagine life without my talks with her on my commute. Today we talked about God and raising our children in His will.  Yesterday we talked about Scentsy. The day before we talked about the disaster of Nick installing her new floors. There isn't a topic we can't cover. And I love that time with her.

So tomorrow....she turns 35. 35 years of God taking her and shaping her and preserving every single spunky, fun, bold thing about her while guiding her into this life she leads now. I've been present for 29 of those years. I have more stories than I could ever write down. Some that I definitely shouldn't ever write down. And in every single one of those moments, I have loved her, and looked up to her, just like I do today.

I am blessed to say that McCall Gogol is my big sister. That she is my best friend.  And tomorrow, its my prayer that she feels as special as she truly is. I pray that she knows 35 is a number and thats it. She's still beautiful. She's still skinny (how is that even possible with her diet coke/buffalo dip diet?!).  She's still creative and talented (have you ever seen her refinished furniture? Awesome!).  She's still that crazy girl that ran away to the playground that was only 10 feet from the front door of our apartment. She's still the one that can make me laugh and cry.  She's still my big sissy.

Happy Birthday to my sister, my best friend, McCall Gogol!  Heres to AT LEAST 60 more birthdays. There are never enough days to celebrate you.
I love you and miss you like crazy!

Big Cat, Big Bag

 May 3 was a Thursday. I was on the backside of a sinus/ear infection that incapacitated me for a solid 36 hours......but Mommies still have to get up and get the kids ready for school. So on this Thursday  morning I was sprawled across the middle of our giant arm chair wallowing in the pain that went from my face to my ankles. Zella was still asleep and the only sounds that could be heard were those of a dogs neglected toenails tapdancing on the hardwood and Cole, slurping the milk from his Pops. And from the silence, Coles tiny voice said "Mommy, how do orphans stay alive?" The brick hit my chest.....hold it together, McKenzee, just answer his question. "Well, bud, there are these homes called orphanages where some orphans are blessed enough to go live." I could see his brain working. He questioned, "but there aren't enough orphanages for all of the orphans? So what happens to those orphans? Do they die?"  Hold back the tears, McKenzee......"yes, buddy. They do." And Cole declared, "Mommy, we can bring an orphan to live with us. He can have my bed. I will sleep on the floor."  I lost it. Tears of joy that God had touched my sons heart. Tears of joy that his small faith completely understood exactly what we needed to do - and tears of sadness that some of us adults, with big grown up faith, still can't see it like that. Simple. God says do it.  It had been about 6 months since the last time I had talked to Cole about orphans. The last time was when we were reading his library book about Africa. We were reading a page about elephants and how hot and dry the desert is and how living conditions are unbearable without enough food and water.  Annnnnnnnnnd Mommy was crying.....reading about elephants. I decided I had to stop. I couldn't drag Cole down in my sadness with me. If God chose to touch his heart for the orphan, He would do it, but it wasn't my job to make him feel something by witnessing my tears. So I stopped talking to him about it. But God had already planted the seed......and this particular Thursday, the seed sprouted. Since that Thursday, on any given night, you can find Cole, asleep on the floor of his bedroom, next to his big comfy bed. That first night I found him like that I woke him and asked him what he was doing and he replied "making room for my brother or sister."  Have I mentioned how blessed I am by this little boy? Beyond blessed. Undeservingly blessed.

I sent Jake a text telling him about our conversation that Thursday morning. There's no possible way, as a parent, to not be proud of your child in that moment. But God was using our conversation for something bigger.  For about two years I have been praying about fostering/adoption. When God put it on me, He put it on me heavy. And that's how I laid it on Jake. Which is the WRONG way to lay something on Jake. LOL.  He wasn't mean about it. He wasn't anti fostering/adoption. He was anti-fostering/adoption for the Kubnicks.  There was always a reason. At first, it was because we had our hands more than full with Zella and her protein intolerance. Then it was an issue of space - where would the kids sleep? Then it was an issue of thinking we were moving, and for a while, it was in issue of a million other things overwhelming us and Jake being aware that we couldn't handle it.  I hinted and badgered and brought it up over and over until finally, I pushed too far. And Jake asked me not to bring it up again. He knew how I felt. And through it all, I prayed. I prayed that God would touch Jake. Day after day I cried out "God, why would you break my heart for these kids if this isn't your will for us?"  Through our church, we have met an AMAZING group of people that have a heart for orphans.  Through these several faithful families I learned that just because we aren't adopting, that doesn't mean we can't support the organizations/families that ARE called to protect them.  I had a heart to heart one night with an amazing woman with a HUGE heart for God and the orphan. And she said to me "adoption may not be in Gods will for your life, so you need to pray for peace to walk that out.....you need to pray for Gods peace to walk out whatever His will may be."  I choked it back. I had never considered that adopting might not be in His will for our family. The next day on my way home from work - turns out commuting is the perfect time for prayer - through tears, I gave it up. I prayed for peace.....to just walk it out. But I kept praying.....only this time, that God would keep us in His will, whatever that might be.

Several weeks later, May 3rd happened. Cole laid the anvil on my lungs that morning and it got to Jake too. Jake posted it on facebook and one of his friends asked him, "are you thinking about adoption?!" - I was a creeper that day. Repeatedly going back to that post......well, Jake? Are you? Are you thinking about adoption?!!!  That night we were getting the kids bathed after dinner and Jake said to me....."soooo, hypothetically, if we were to adopt, have you thought about age, gender, or country?"  Breathe, McKenzee, breathe.  "To be perfectly honest, I don't care about any of those things." He replied....."how about a 5 year old boy from Ukraine? I've been doing some research..."  I had to walk out of the room. I"m pretty sure my lips ripped in the corners because my grin was so huge....later that night we stood in the driveway, me in all of my no makeup sinus infection glory and I almost squeezed the life out of Jake as told me he's ready. That God laid it on him, hard. And he's ready.  Thank you, Lord.

Jake asked me not to blog about it at first. We wanted to talk to our families and figure out some details.  And its a good thing. Once we spoke it......the backlash began. It felt like a full on attack from every side of us. Cole was getting in trouble at school and having some serious behavior issues at home. Zella decided that she was going to do nothing but cry for several consecutive weeks. Our family drama exploded. And the insecurity.......the second I spoke the word adoption, I started feeling judged. I started feeling like every single word I spoke to my kids was being scrutinized by someone thinking that I wasn't fit to be an adoptive mother. Every disciplining action felt wrong. Every meal I fed my family wasn't balanced enough. My house wasn't clean enough. I wasn't spending enough time exercising. I couldn't give my kids the time they needed at the end of a work day. And then I remembered that its none of those things that matter. There's no definition of a perfect parent. It isn't possible to be perfect. We all fall short every single day.  Regardless of the toys on the floor, the breakfast for dinner two nights in a row, the piles of laundry or the extra 15 lbs......those things don't equal love. I don't have to be a perfect parent. I just have to love. Are there other components to parenting? Of course there are. But at the end of the day, what matters most?  What touches you the deepest? 

The Tuesday before Fathers Day Jake was asked to give his testimony, and how it related to Fathers Day and being a father. On Fathers Day, in front of an entire congregation and most of Facebook, Jake told his story. About growing up without a father, and finding the love of God the father. And he talked about our kids, and how they will never have to wonder if he loves them. And about adoption. To say that I was proud is an exaggerated understatement. To think that God is using every second of every day of our lives, past and present, to create a story for Him is overwhelming. To think that God is using the fatherless, to hurt for the fatherless - He makes all things work together for our good. Its incredible.

So yes, there it is.The gigantic cat is out of its gigantic bag. We are adopting.We are walking completely in faith, letting God lead us through the dark, opening one candlelit door at a time. We are aware of peoples opinions, already heard a few of those!, and that well, we might not have the support of every face we meet. And that's okay. We believe, this is Gods call for our family. Its a long process. And every day of waiting will bring us exactly to the place God wants us. Every day feels like a deliverance. Like the doubt of the day before is vindicated with light of the new morning. God shows Himself to us every single day. If its in a friends perfectly timed encouraging text message or in a hug from our son whose heart is totally ready for his brother/sister, He's there. We are beyond honored to be trusted with these beautiful babies. To think that He thinks we should have more Kubnicks is humbling......but who are we to argue?

Watch out world - the Kubnicks are multiplying :)