It's been a while since I updated about the Kubnicks......and since then we have found ourselves completely submerged deep in the thick of crazy. Lucky for us, we have several friends that 1 - remind us of how much deeper our crazy will get once our kiddos are home and 2 - do an amazing job distracting us long enough for us to think we've slept in the last month. BOTH of these groups of friends are amazing and without this support system that God has put in place for us, crazy would seem like psychotic. Meds I can do....asylum? Well, I just don't look good in white ;)
As of this week, and after a few delays (i.e. my very own paperwork error), the Kubnicks are officially submitted to immigration! What does that mean? It means that we are one step closer to Ukraine. It means that we are in a period of waiting. It means that while we wait (for up to 90 days) we fund raise! Turns out, this adoption thing is pretty expensive! There's this "rage against the machine" part of me that wants to say "how can you possibly put a price tag on a life"? But the harsh reality of it is, there is a price tag. BUT the amazing thing about God is this.....the price tag doesn't matter! We have full faith that God is going to meet us every single penny of the way through this adoption. Does that mean that we have to stay up a little later painting signs with big red anchors? It does. Does that mean that when I lose a few pounds (totally stress related. I have no idea what exercise means anymore.) that I don't get to go buy a bunch of new clothes? It does. It also means that as a family, we are making a commitment to be Jesus' hands and feet. It means that as parents, we are giving Cole and Zella a firm and Biblical foundation to stand on by saying WE ARE SECOND. It means, that at the end of all of this, our family will be bigger, our home will contain more laughter, our hearts will be even more full than we imagined, and our faith will be much greater than when we started and children that were once abandoned, will learn that Jesus will never ever leave them. Suddenly, the price tag is seemingly insignificant. So we'll sell what we have. We'll yard sale until there's nothing left to yard sell. We will pray circles and more circles around Jericho until the walls come down and the bill is paid. Because He did the same for us. He relentlessly pursued us, paying the ultimate price to redeem us, no matter how many times we tried to stop Him. And when we couldn't fight anymore, He adopted us into His family. And He loved us through our temper tantrums and hissy fits and frequent bouts of selfishness. And then He called us to do the same. We say "yes".
And in saying "yes", we have been overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by His unbelievably creative ways of meeting us. Small example: last week, we had to write a substantial check for the adoption. We weren't quite biting our nails, but were aware that this week, another substantial check would need to be written and that just wasn't there. We wrote the check on Thursday of last week. On Thursday of last week, Jake got a bonus tacked onto his pay check from the Dept. of Defense. If you work for the government, you will know that they don't just GIVE money away. But there it was.....that bonus, plus a random, generous gift from a sweet friend, equaled every single penny that we needed to send to immigration this week. There are about a million other blessings that we've just be swept away by in these last few weeks....but not enough space in the blog to list them. In our small faith, He made a HUGE point to yell at us, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." Psalm 37:4 Its amazing what can happen when the desires of our hearts, match His desires for us.
So we're fund raising. We've got just about everything you can imagine for sale. A Harley, a dining room table and hutch, hand painted signs, commercial grade fitness equipment, clothes, shoes, a cradle, small random furniture, bracelets, Scentsy.......no lie, if its not breathing, I'll sell it to you! And every night as soon as the kids go to bed I rush rush rush around trying to do all the Mom things I need to do plus all of the extra stuff like painting signs and pricing yard sale items. And its easy to forget the things that I hold close to my heart.......and this last week, in the craziness, I was reminded.
I am blessed to have a husband that is as crazy as I am. I am blessed to have a husband that will pray for our family, that will break down to God for our family, that we can trust as he leads us in Gods will. I am beyond blessed to have a husband with an incredible work ethic. Blessed to have a husband that has never in his life done anything half way. Blessed that he already loves our child/children in Ukraine SO much that he's learning Russian (thank you, Rosetta Stone) in an effort to understand Ukrainian a little better. And he's really really handsome. So that's HUGE!
When Zella was sick for the first year of her life we spent countless hours rocking. She was only a few months old when we started praying for my friend that was a nurse in Uganda and foster Mom to a set of very sick twins. In the wee hours of the morning, with her on my chest, I would cry out to God for these babies, and so many others that God was breaking my heart for. And we would sing "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound....." We still sing to Zella every night. We don't know when or if we will have another infant, so we are holding on to her as long as we can. But its been a while since she didn't request "Wheels on the Bus" or "Jesus Loves Me". But tonight as I laid her down she demanded "Grace! Sing Grace!". In my best effort to fight back the tears, we sang it together. As I was leaving she yelled out "Deep as the Yocean, Mommy!" And I'm reminded of the hard hard hard times that I have spent with this beautiful little girl........and that one moment, made it all worth it.
And then there's Cole. Oh Cole. First of all, he told my Mom this weekend that I'm really smart. So he's my favorite now ;) Second of all, everywhere we go, he talks adoption. And it makes me grin ear to ear. He struck up a conversation with a lady at Walgreens on Sunday by saying "we're saving money for an adoption!" Kid never meets a stranger. I got a text from our babysitter the night of the wedding saying that she was touched by his prayer at dinner time. So that means he actually prayed on his own, without being prompted, at dinner! And it obviously didn't include any of the way too often used bodily function words that he's so fond of these days! And tonight.....when I tucked him in he asked if I would lay with him and sing him a song. When I left the room he said "I'll miss you, Mommy. Love you as deep as the ocean!" You got me, Cole. I just completely forgot that you got in trouble at school today. And I will keep on forgetting as long as your heart keeps getting bigger and bigger.
Over the weekend, one of my bestest girls got married and I was blessed to be a part of the wedding party. First of all, it was beautiful. There is no place like the Lowcountry and this wedding did everything possible to highlight this life we love so much. And I just kinda really love weddings - a lot. But so standing in front of the church, listening to the pastor talk about marriage, and about how the opposite of love is selfishness, I couldn't help but look at how far Jake and I have come together. I looked back to meet his eyes in the church and he was right there with me. And that night we danced and it was like that first night on our blind date. I just melted in his arms.....and he held me up. And I'm reminded that my first job is as a Christian, and my second is as a wife. Not Mom. Wife. And the rewards are immeasurable. He's also still very very handsome :)
Soooooooo, yard sale!!!!! 91 Heritage Parkway, Bluffton......Saturday, Oct. 6, 8am-12pm. OR mckenzeekubnick.scentsy.us OR check my facebook for handpainted signs and bracelets OR message me if you're in the market for a Harley or dining room set :) I officially have no shame.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Tell Me
At work. Running behind. Have this rant going through my head. Needed to just get it out. Oh the beauty of a personal blog. Its like yelling at someone without that whole awkward confrontation factor.
So since the Kubnick family has embarked upon this international adoption journey, we have started noticing several common trends.
The first is the inability of people to just be excited for us without adding their opinion. It goes something like this...."oh that's so nice that you're adopting from Ukraine. Let me tell you what I think....." No thanks.
The second is the inability of people to keep their mouths shut. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. Obviously this is a decision that was not made hastily and your 20 minute dissertation on why you don't believe in adoption isn't going to end up with us saying "you're right! I never looked at it that way! Let's not adopt!".
And the third is similar to the second. Those people that agree with the idea of adoption, just not OUR adoption. Here's how that conversation goes.....
"Yes, we are adopting from Ukraine."
"I don't understand why people adopt internationally when there are hundreds of thousands of orphans right here in the united states! What's wrong with the kids here? I mean, there's a crisis right here on the homefront and all you people are running off to rescue another country's problem!"
"I'm sorry that you disagree. We feel God is leading us to Ukraine."
That last part, that's what I say. But here's what I WANT to say :)
Oh really? Do you want to tell me all about your domestic adoption journey? Do you want to show me the spreadsheet that you developed to break down the pro's and con's of international vs. domestic adoption? Oh wait, what? You've never adopted a child before? Then keep your pie hole shut! An orphan is an orphan regardless of their ethnicity or geographic location and its attitudes like yours that have assisted in making the worlds orphan crisis run 147 million strong. When God decided to wake you up this morning I'm pretty sure that His justification wasn't "well the numbers in the US are balancing out today so let me save this one, one more time". We go where we feel led. Without God rescuing us, and adopting us into His family, this process would have never been a consideration for our family. So when He says go, we go. We believe in His vision for a world that loves the same way that He does, without barriers that separate us or make us feel less responsible for people in need. The crisis remains the same. There are children without homes. Until you decide that you aren't too good to open your home to one, or two or three, don't decide that you're going to rain on our parade by shoving your small minded opinions down our throats. We don't care what you have to say. Would you like to buy a bracelet to help us fund raise?
Rant. Over. :)
So since the Kubnick family has embarked upon this international adoption journey, we have started noticing several common trends.
The first is the inability of people to just be excited for us without adding their opinion. It goes something like this...."oh that's so nice that you're adopting from Ukraine. Let me tell you what I think....." No thanks.
The second is the inability of people to keep their mouths shut. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. Obviously this is a decision that was not made hastily and your 20 minute dissertation on why you don't believe in adoption isn't going to end up with us saying "you're right! I never looked at it that way! Let's not adopt!".
And the third is similar to the second. Those people that agree with the idea of adoption, just not OUR adoption. Here's how that conversation goes.....
"Yes, we are adopting from Ukraine."
"I don't understand why people adopt internationally when there are hundreds of thousands of orphans right here in the united states! What's wrong with the kids here? I mean, there's a crisis right here on the homefront and all you people are running off to rescue another country's problem!"
"I'm sorry that you disagree. We feel God is leading us to Ukraine."
That last part, that's what I say. But here's what I WANT to say :)
Oh really? Do you want to tell me all about your domestic adoption journey? Do you want to show me the spreadsheet that you developed to break down the pro's and con's of international vs. domestic adoption? Oh wait, what? You've never adopted a child before? Then keep your pie hole shut! An orphan is an orphan regardless of their ethnicity or geographic location and its attitudes like yours that have assisted in making the worlds orphan crisis run 147 million strong. When God decided to wake you up this morning I'm pretty sure that His justification wasn't "well the numbers in the US are balancing out today so let me save this one, one more time". We go where we feel led. Without God rescuing us, and adopting us into His family, this process would have never been a consideration for our family. So when He says go, we go. We believe in His vision for a world that loves the same way that He does, without barriers that separate us or make us feel less responsible for people in need. The crisis remains the same. There are children without homes. Until you decide that you aren't too good to open your home to one, or two or three, don't decide that you're going to rain on our parade by shoving your small minded opinions down our throats. We don't care what you have to say. Would you like to buy a bracelet to help us fund raise?
Rant. Over. :)
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Change
In 1968 my Granddaddy had a dream. He had a dream of a family owned business that would do far more than make ends meet for his family. He had dreams of building a legacy. Of letting the business trickle down through generations of men with a work ethic and ability to reach people that was similar to his own.
I remember the way his hands looked. Permanently scarred from chemical burns, worn, aged, calloused. The sign of a hardworking man. He had a distinct smell too. Now that its right out my office door I recognize it as pesticides, but then, it was just Granddaddy. The yard at his house was full of "stuff". Little john boats, chickens, goats, fifty-leven dogs....you name it. Have you ever seen that show with "Turtle Man"? At the end of his jobs he always gets paid with things like "jars of fresh honey" or "an honorary membership to the rotary club". That's how Granddaddy worked in the beginning. Granny was forever mad at him when he'd do a full days worth of work for a homemade pie and some venison. But Granddaddy started his business as a working class man, doing work for working class people. He sympathized when there wasn't enough money in the budget for something simple like pest control. So he would take whatever they had to offer. I sure did love his big heart. And so the business grew. My first memories of it were the papers that were constantly overflowing on the desk in his home office. Guess when you take apple pie as payment, bookkeeping isn't real high on your priority list. And then it moved to a trailer in the yard of his house. He and my Uncle built and built the business on good old Southern business standards until business was booming. They had to hire 2 receptionists! That's big time! Just before Granddaddy got sick....he and my Uncle laid out the plans for a new building, complete with a warehouse for chemicals and a bay big enough to hold all of the trucks....it was like their dream was unfolding in front of them. And then there was cancer.
Grannys house was an outdoors kids dream growing up. Pulling in her driveway and parking under the sprawling oak tree that covers the left side of her yard feels like something out of a movie. At the right time of year, the azaleas are so vibrant and full that it takes your breath away. And growing up, we spent a lot of time there. Just out her back door was a whole world of adventure. She had the storage shed that each spring became home to at least 2 litters of kittens (she hates cats!) and McCall and I would spend our days out there trying to find them. Another oak tree not two steps off of her porch had a tire swing, and the rickety swing set that Granddaddy built so many years before was just off to the right. And if you kept going straight, Granddaddy had his dog pens. Granny hates dogs too ;) McCall and I used to run down there and bang on the pens just to get the dogs all worked up! Ever hear 10 beagles when they get excited? Its awful. And Granny hated it. And we thought it was hilarious. Granddaddy sometimes thought he was the animal whisperer. He built a corral out behind those dog pens once and brought home this beautiful, wild black stallion. He swore up and down that he could break that horse. We would stand out there in sheer awe at its' unbridled power.. I hated the day that Granddaddy finally admitted his defeat and the horse had to leave. Now, in the place of my childhood memories, sits an office building. My Uncle built that building that he and Granddaddy dreamed of. It was complete almost a year after Granddaddy passed away. Right inside the front door of our office is a picture of him. He oversees the day to day operations from his place on the wall. Every now and then, when its quiet, we hear the door open or a swift breeze blow through the office, and we know he's there with us.
I started working for the family business just shy of 7 years ago. For my entire life I have proudly said "We are Old South Exterminators". For almost 7 years I have driven down that long driveway that winds behind Granny's house and into the back yard of our office and every day have been flooded with childhood memories that are irreplaceable. Childhood memories that I long to recreate for my kids. And when I started working for the family, That was part of my goal. I was holding on to the memories that made me who I am.
But things change. People change. Life evolves. People pass away leaving giant empty spots in our lives and leaving us less of ourselves. Greed takes over. And as a result, families change. This week, ours did. We sold out. A dream deferred. Another statistic.
I can't even look at that picture of Granddaddy right now. The only comfort I have is knowing that maybe he's sitting there next to God and God is telling him all of the reasons why this is a good thing and of all of the plans that He has for us. I tried my hardest to rest my mind in the promise of hope and a future today. I taped a Ukrainian flag next to our family picture on my computer so that all day long I could remember what I'm fighting for. And while my brain knows that its true, my heart is heavy. I won't go into the reasons why or what happened or how. But it feels wrong. It feels wrong to give away a dream for money. It feels wrong to give away a dream for anything. I drove down that long driveway today to come home to MY dream. And I realized that its time to let go. You can't move forward, if you're always looking back. I will always have my memories. I will always have that black stallion and beagles and john boats and chickens. The oak trees are still standing and the azaleas still bloom every Spring. I have to remember each day that maybe all dreams aren't in Gods plans. And I have to trust, wholeheartedly, that He knows what He's doing. And so tomorrow, I'll become an employee, not a family member. And I'll look at my Kubnick family and that little flag and gut through it. For another paycheck. For a plane ticket. For an agency fee. Because while my dreams for the company might not be in Gods plans, I know wholeheartedly, that the dream He has planted in my heart for my family, is 100% His design. And I have to do, even through tears, what I have to do to make that happen. I'm leaning on my education at a Christian school tonight....remembering all of those verses I hated learning and am so thankful now that I did.
"Delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart" - Psalm 37:4
"TRUST in the Lord, with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." - Proverbs 3:5-6
"Many are the plans in a mans heart, but it is the Lords purpose that prevails." - Proverbs 19:21
"For I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you. Plans of hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11
"For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5
Looking forward to tomorrow morning :)
I remember the way his hands looked. Permanently scarred from chemical burns, worn, aged, calloused. The sign of a hardworking man. He had a distinct smell too. Now that its right out my office door I recognize it as pesticides, but then, it was just Granddaddy. The yard at his house was full of "stuff". Little john boats, chickens, goats, fifty-leven dogs....you name it. Have you ever seen that show with "Turtle Man"? At the end of his jobs he always gets paid with things like "jars of fresh honey" or "an honorary membership to the rotary club". That's how Granddaddy worked in the beginning. Granny was forever mad at him when he'd do a full days worth of work for a homemade pie and some venison. But Granddaddy started his business as a working class man, doing work for working class people. He sympathized when there wasn't enough money in the budget for something simple like pest control. So he would take whatever they had to offer. I sure did love his big heart. And so the business grew. My first memories of it were the papers that were constantly overflowing on the desk in his home office. Guess when you take apple pie as payment, bookkeeping isn't real high on your priority list. And then it moved to a trailer in the yard of his house. He and my Uncle built and built the business on good old Southern business standards until business was booming. They had to hire 2 receptionists! That's big time! Just before Granddaddy got sick....he and my Uncle laid out the plans for a new building, complete with a warehouse for chemicals and a bay big enough to hold all of the trucks....it was like their dream was unfolding in front of them. And then there was cancer.
Grannys house was an outdoors kids dream growing up. Pulling in her driveway and parking under the sprawling oak tree that covers the left side of her yard feels like something out of a movie. At the right time of year, the azaleas are so vibrant and full that it takes your breath away. And growing up, we spent a lot of time there. Just out her back door was a whole world of adventure. She had the storage shed that each spring became home to at least 2 litters of kittens (she hates cats!) and McCall and I would spend our days out there trying to find them. Another oak tree not two steps off of her porch had a tire swing, and the rickety swing set that Granddaddy built so many years before was just off to the right. And if you kept going straight, Granddaddy had his dog pens. Granny hates dogs too ;) McCall and I used to run down there and bang on the pens just to get the dogs all worked up! Ever hear 10 beagles when they get excited? Its awful. And Granny hated it. And we thought it was hilarious. Granddaddy sometimes thought he was the animal whisperer. He built a corral out behind those dog pens once and brought home this beautiful, wild black stallion. He swore up and down that he could break that horse. We would stand out there in sheer awe at its' unbridled power.. I hated the day that Granddaddy finally admitted his defeat and the horse had to leave. Now, in the place of my childhood memories, sits an office building. My Uncle built that building that he and Granddaddy dreamed of. It was complete almost a year after Granddaddy passed away. Right inside the front door of our office is a picture of him. He oversees the day to day operations from his place on the wall. Every now and then, when its quiet, we hear the door open or a swift breeze blow through the office, and we know he's there with us.
I started working for the family business just shy of 7 years ago. For my entire life I have proudly said "We are Old South Exterminators". For almost 7 years I have driven down that long driveway that winds behind Granny's house and into the back yard of our office and every day have been flooded with childhood memories that are irreplaceable. Childhood memories that I long to recreate for my kids. And when I started working for the family, That was part of my goal. I was holding on to the memories that made me who I am.
But things change. People change. Life evolves. People pass away leaving giant empty spots in our lives and leaving us less of ourselves. Greed takes over. And as a result, families change. This week, ours did. We sold out. A dream deferred. Another statistic.
I can't even look at that picture of Granddaddy right now. The only comfort I have is knowing that maybe he's sitting there next to God and God is telling him all of the reasons why this is a good thing and of all of the plans that He has for us. I tried my hardest to rest my mind in the promise of hope and a future today. I taped a Ukrainian flag next to our family picture on my computer so that all day long I could remember what I'm fighting for. And while my brain knows that its true, my heart is heavy. I won't go into the reasons why or what happened or how. But it feels wrong. It feels wrong to give away a dream for money. It feels wrong to give away a dream for anything. I drove down that long driveway today to come home to MY dream. And I realized that its time to let go. You can't move forward, if you're always looking back. I will always have my memories. I will always have that black stallion and beagles and john boats and chickens. The oak trees are still standing and the azaleas still bloom every Spring. I have to remember each day that maybe all dreams aren't in Gods plans. And I have to trust, wholeheartedly, that He knows what He's doing. And so tomorrow, I'll become an employee, not a family member. And I'll look at my Kubnick family and that little flag and gut through it. For another paycheck. For a plane ticket. For an agency fee. Because while my dreams for the company might not be in Gods plans, I know wholeheartedly, that the dream He has planted in my heart for my family, is 100% His design. And I have to do, even through tears, what I have to do to make that happen. I'm leaning on my education at a Christian school tonight....remembering all of those verses I hated learning and am so thankful now that I did.
"Delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart" - Psalm 37:4
"TRUST in the Lord, with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." - Proverbs 3:5-6
"Many are the plans in a mans heart, but it is the Lords purpose that prevails." - Proverbs 19:21
"For I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you. Plans of hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11
"For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5
Looking forward to tomorrow morning :)
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Just Laugh
At this very moment, there is a 9 page home study draft on my desktop that needs my attention. Whats one more day?! I tried to work on it tonight. I opened it and changed my font to "red" and started editing and realized that I had put the wrong date, name, and place in the blanks that were supposed to hold my birth certificate information. Annnnnnd "save" and "close". Baby steps. Baby steps. But so these last two weeks have been a little "heavy". And I haven't blogged since July and well, its just time. Time for an update.
The Home Study
This is our HUGE deal in the last several weeks. HUGE. We had our first home visit with our social worker on July 27. Jake and Cole had been out of town for a week, were home for one day and fell victim to this crazy lady as I prepared for our first visit. Let me just say that I'm typically "not right" as it is. There's something a little off about the way that I function on so little sleep and the way that I manage to multi-task so many things into very small amounts of time. This particular week though, I was full blown crazy. My house. looked. immaculate. We're gonna call our social worker "Lady". Cause she's a lady and until I have the official copy of the homestudy in my hand I shouldn't call her by her real name ;) Lady was scheduled to be here around 8:30 am on a Friday. I was up, dressed, coffee in my hand by 7. Its summer people. This was a ginormous accomplishment. Around 7:30, Lady called and asked me for directions, which I gave, which she then rejected and said I needed to come meet her because my street wasn't showing up on her GPS. Neighborhood has been here for 6+ years. Update your Garmin. I met her. We get back home and the meeting continues. There's about ten different little stories that need to be attached to this first meeting.....again, waiting for complete study before I share. But it was about an hour. And she was gone. She walked through the house. Checked for dead bodies. That was that. I was LIVID. Where's your white glove, Lady?! You aren't going to check my baseboards or ask my children to sing "Jesus Loves the Little Children"? But we practiced!!!!! You aren't even going to use the guest bathroom after I even washed the hand towel and steam mopped the floors?! You aren't going to comment on how the clothes in my childrens closets are hung according to season, occasion and color spectrum (ROYGBIV - learn it)? Well surely if you can't check these things, you can't possibly be a good judge of parenting. These thoughts, minus the parenting one at the end, legitamately went through my crazy brain. And then Zella needed to potty and I was brought back to normal people world. First visit, July 27. Second visit, August 15. In those two weeks (ish) I gathered paperwork, got tested for communicable diseases and discovered that on my health certificate, my doctor accidentally shaved an entire inch off my height ( I NEED that inch. I was one lapse of good judgement away from paying the co-pay again just so I could see her and make her fix it.). Also, during that time, Jake rebroke his ankle and assumed the position of Coach on our church softball team. You know what that means? That means that by default, as the coaches wife, when there aren't enough girls to field a co-ed team, I had to play. After the first game, I remembered very well why I hadn't touched a glove, bat, or ball since 8th grade. I should stick to raising kids. A few days later......by default, I was on the field again. This game was the night before our second home visit. I got up to bat and swung at this beauty of a pitch and I hit the ball!!! I was so stunned that I hit it, that I forgot to run, and upon remembering to run, I forgot how to run. Thus, pulling BOTH groin muscles. The rest of that game was spent walking around like I was giving birth. It was flat out embarassing that night when I couldn't lift my feet high enough to step into our walk in shower. And the only thing I could think about? Lady is gonna see me walking like this and think Jake beat me and she's going to write a bad report!!! Because why wouldn't that be the very first conclusion she would jump to? Again......not.right. (pointing to myself). I slept it off....woke up, and made this house immaculate. She was here 30 minutes. Took our money. Hit the road. Same reaction from me. Still wondering where her stupid white glove is and why nobody cares that my house was that clean other than me! And Jake. His most favorite part about the home study process was how clean our house was - twice. Love that guy. But so now we have a draft, and soon we will have a final copy and then it goes to DSS.....and well we will just stop right there because the DSS step is going to take some serious prayer. BUT, we are one whole step closer to Ukraine and are ridiculously thrilled :) Oh......also, I totally turned a double play during that second softball game. That's right. Cy Young I own you.
Granny
It gets a little heavier here. But this is where I remind myself that I have to laugh. Laughter is amazing medicine. Kinda like valium......or miralax. But so Granny fell and shattered her wrist....it will be 4 weeks tomorrow. She needed surgery immediately to put pins and a plate in it. She had just gotten to cast taken off of her other wrist from a fall several weeks earlier where she broke that one. So Left hand was weak, right hand, shattered. The doctors decided that she needed to go to a rehabilitative facility until she could use her right hand again. She was doing great, in good spirits, getting lots of attention and doing physical therapy twice a day. She was supposed to go home a week ago. But a few days before she was slated to go home, she got pneumonia. Now I won't go into all of the medical stuff.....or why I believe that I should have just gutted out college and fulfilled my potential as a doctor.....regardless of my opinions as to why, she got sick. Heavy duty antibiotics, lots of nebulizer use, etc. etc. took a heavy toll on her body and now she's in the hospital. And the little girl in me has cried a lot. A lot. Because this is my Granny. And she's 85. And I'm not an idiot. And the adult in me has remembered that this is not where we belong, as Christians. This isn't our final resting place. That what is waiting for us is far greater than we could ever imagine. And that's where Granny is headed, whenever that time comes. And when I reconciled that, I had some great memories flood my mind. Here's one of my very favorites from not too long ago......On the first of every month we send out a couple hundred invoices. Granny loves the first of the month because she gets to come to the office and hang out with the girls all day and stuff envelopes. She was sitting at the kitchen table this day and I was walking through the kitchen and she started talking to me......Granny: "I heard there wasn't nothing to see at that festival this year." (She's referring to Gopher Hill. It's an annual festival in Ridgeland that's usually the highlight of the towns year.) Me: "what do you mean there wasn't anything to see? There weren't any people there?" Granny: "I heard they boycotted it." Me: "Wait, who boycotted what, Granny?" She leaned across the table, stuck her finger out and motioned for me to come closer and she whispered, "well you see", she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, "the blacks is having trouble with the whites again. so they boycotted.". I thought I was going to wet my pants. If you just read that, and you are thinking anything even remotely related to racism, don't. But that's my Granny. She is always in "the know". And I love that memory. Because she's hilarious. I was in the hospital this afternoon and a respiratory therapist came in and asked why she had taken the oxygen out of her nose. Granny said "well the other nurse said my oxygen was fine so I didn't need it." The respiratory therapist said "well, I'm a respiratory therapist and I say your oxygen is not okay" and Granny, in all of her sickness, without skipping a beat said "Well I'm sick and I don't think any of ya'll know what you're talking about!" She's spunky. She's challenging. She knows what she wants. I sure do hope she stays around for a whole lot longer.
Cole
Reason #437 that I cried this week....wait, its only Tuesday. Anyways.....Cole started 1st grade yesterday. Ugh. I feel so OLLLLLLD! I mean, he's handsome! And he likes me to spike his hair and he told me on Monday "Mom, these new kicks are super fly!" My baby is officially growing up. And I always anticipated hating it. But I never anticipated hating it for these reasons. I never anticipated hating him growing up.....because it means that I have to watch him struggle. I never anticipated hate like this, because I thought it would be for things like having to let him go.....not out of concern that the little punk girl that bullied him last year is in his class again and I might have to beat her up. I never thought that watching the frustration on his face, would cause me to cry at his open house, in front of his teacher, who went and told the other teachers that a mom cried at her open house. "Hi! I'm the Mom that cried!" I officially don't need a name at school. Awesome. That was Thursday night. Monday morning, I walked Cole in and handed him his bookbag. I knealt down to give him a hug, and he tripped and collapsed into me, knocking us both onto the ground. Not a single thing about us was graceful......sprawled all out on the multi-purpose room floor. The Kubnicks are here! Good grief! LOL! But he had an awesome first day. I kept Jesus SUPER busy with my begging and pleading on Cole's behalf and sure enough he came home unscathed with a good report in his bookbag. Today, day 2, he came home with a note that says he's a great helper and very sweet.....and "somewhat off task". I chuckled at that one. Welcome to my world, lady ;). I'm so proud of him. He's becoming such a great little man. He challenges me one minute and the next he says "Mom, lets pray".....melt my heart. This little guy....he keeps me and Jesus TIGHT! He's an amazing little dude :)
Zella
Its a good thing that Lady didn't check our kids for bruises. If you were to check Zella out you would be certain that we beat her on a regular basis. Baby girl is ROUGH! Jake joked the other night about how he used to fight a lot in school. And I commented that we didn't need to worry about Cole fighting, because Zella was going to be doing it all for him. She's hilarious. And as Aunt McCall put it "a mess". She gets it from her mama :). She is officially potty trained now. Yaaaaaaaaay daycare! I honestly can take zero credit for this. Her verbal skills, I'll take that, but the potty training, that's all daycare. They deserve a raise. No they don't....but I did say "thank you". And so with this new big girl attitude comes her HUGE and hilarious personality. She's forever asking "whats that?" or "what's that smell?" or "what you eatin'?". She's quick to call herself out too. I'll say "oh my gosh. who farted?!" and very proudly and confidently Zella says "meeeeeeee!" and raises her hand. I have never known a child with gas like Zella Claire. I just laughed out loud at the idea that someone may have just read that and cringed at the word "fart". I live in a house with two boys. Boys that love protein. And broccoli. And eggs. This is my reality. But so Zella is growing up way faster than I remember Cole growing up. She was sitting at the table coloring the other night wearing her Green Bay Packer tshirt, her tiny little "unnies" and her hot pink Chuck Taylors. She kept wiping the hair out of her eyes while she was trying to color and her little hands are still so tiny, but her mannerisms are so grown. When did this happen?! Oh baby fever, you have taken hold of my brain!!! I want to bottle Zella and sell her energy. I want to preserve every tiny little centimeter of her toddler body. I want to make a mold of the way she still just "fits" on my chest. Oh how I love this little girl. Time, can you please, just slow down just a little?
And that's where we are. I'm sure there's more. I'm sure I've forgotten a major event of some variety. But that's our life. A sweet friend of mine is constantly reminding my ever wandering brain....."this day, these tasks". And that's where we are. We are handling today. We are soaking up today. We are doing our very best to remember every second of today. And when we don't seem to be able to handle it all......We are learning to Just Laugh.
Thank you, God, for this crazy, beautiful, laughter filled life :)
The Home Study
This is our HUGE deal in the last several weeks. HUGE. We had our first home visit with our social worker on July 27. Jake and Cole had been out of town for a week, were home for one day and fell victim to this crazy lady as I prepared for our first visit. Let me just say that I'm typically "not right" as it is. There's something a little off about the way that I function on so little sleep and the way that I manage to multi-task so many things into very small amounts of time. This particular week though, I was full blown crazy. My house. looked. immaculate. We're gonna call our social worker "Lady". Cause she's a lady and until I have the official copy of the homestudy in my hand I shouldn't call her by her real name ;) Lady was scheduled to be here around 8:30 am on a Friday. I was up, dressed, coffee in my hand by 7. Its summer people. This was a ginormous accomplishment. Around 7:30, Lady called and asked me for directions, which I gave, which she then rejected and said I needed to come meet her because my street wasn't showing up on her GPS. Neighborhood has been here for 6+ years. Update your Garmin. I met her. We get back home and the meeting continues. There's about ten different little stories that need to be attached to this first meeting.....again, waiting for complete study before I share. But it was about an hour. And she was gone. She walked through the house. Checked for dead bodies. That was that. I was LIVID. Where's your white glove, Lady?! You aren't going to check my baseboards or ask my children to sing "Jesus Loves the Little Children"? But we practiced!!!!! You aren't even going to use the guest bathroom after I even washed the hand towel and steam mopped the floors?! You aren't going to comment on how the clothes in my childrens closets are hung according to season, occasion and color spectrum (ROYGBIV - learn it)? Well surely if you can't check these things, you can't possibly be a good judge of parenting. These thoughts, minus the parenting one at the end, legitamately went through my crazy brain. And then Zella needed to potty and I was brought back to normal people world. First visit, July 27. Second visit, August 15. In those two weeks (ish) I gathered paperwork, got tested for communicable diseases and discovered that on my health certificate, my doctor accidentally shaved an entire inch off my height ( I NEED that inch. I was one lapse of good judgement away from paying the co-pay again just so I could see her and make her fix it.). Also, during that time, Jake rebroke his ankle and assumed the position of Coach on our church softball team. You know what that means? That means that by default, as the coaches wife, when there aren't enough girls to field a co-ed team, I had to play. After the first game, I remembered very well why I hadn't touched a glove, bat, or ball since 8th grade. I should stick to raising kids. A few days later......by default, I was on the field again. This game was the night before our second home visit. I got up to bat and swung at this beauty of a pitch and I hit the ball!!! I was so stunned that I hit it, that I forgot to run, and upon remembering to run, I forgot how to run. Thus, pulling BOTH groin muscles. The rest of that game was spent walking around like I was giving birth. It was flat out embarassing that night when I couldn't lift my feet high enough to step into our walk in shower. And the only thing I could think about? Lady is gonna see me walking like this and think Jake beat me and she's going to write a bad report!!! Because why wouldn't that be the very first conclusion she would jump to? Again......not.right. (pointing to myself). I slept it off....woke up, and made this house immaculate. She was here 30 minutes. Took our money. Hit the road. Same reaction from me. Still wondering where her stupid white glove is and why nobody cares that my house was that clean other than me! And Jake. His most favorite part about the home study process was how clean our house was - twice. Love that guy. But so now we have a draft, and soon we will have a final copy and then it goes to DSS.....and well we will just stop right there because the DSS step is going to take some serious prayer. BUT, we are one whole step closer to Ukraine and are ridiculously thrilled :) Oh......also, I totally turned a double play during that second softball game. That's right. Cy Young I own you.
Granny
It gets a little heavier here. But this is where I remind myself that I have to laugh. Laughter is amazing medicine. Kinda like valium......or miralax. But so Granny fell and shattered her wrist....it will be 4 weeks tomorrow. She needed surgery immediately to put pins and a plate in it. She had just gotten to cast taken off of her other wrist from a fall several weeks earlier where she broke that one. So Left hand was weak, right hand, shattered. The doctors decided that she needed to go to a rehabilitative facility until she could use her right hand again. She was doing great, in good spirits, getting lots of attention and doing physical therapy twice a day. She was supposed to go home a week ago. But a few days before she was slated to go home, she got pneumonia. Now I won't go into all of the medical stuff.....or why I believe that I should have just gutted out college and fulfilled my potential as a doctor.....regardless of my opinions as to why, she got sick. Heavy duty antibiotics, lots of nebulizer use, etc. etc. took a heavy toll on her body and now she's in the hospital. And the little girl in me has cried a lot. A lot. Because this is my Granny. And she's 85. And I'm not an idiot. And the adult in me has remembered that this is not where we belong, as Christians. This isn't our final resting place. That what is waiting for us is far greater than we could ever imagine. And that's where Granny is headed, whenever that time comes. And when I reconciled that, I had some great memories flood my mind. Here's one of my very favorites from not too long ago......On the first of every month we send out a couple hundred invoices. Granny loves the first of the month because she gets to come to the office and hang out with the girls all day and stuff envelopes. She was sitting at the kitchen table this day and I was walking through the kitchen and she started talking to me......Granny: "I heard there wasn't nothing to see at that festival this year." (She's referring to Gopher Hill. It's an annual festival in Ridgeland that's usually the highlight of the towns year.) Me: "what do you mean there wasn't anything to see? There weren't any people there?" Granny: "I heard they boycotted it." Me: "Wait, who boycotted what, Granny?" She leaned across the table, stuck her finger out and motioned for me to come closer and she whispered, "well you see", she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, "the blacks is having trouble with the whites again. so they boycotted.". I thought I was going to wet my pants. If you just read that, and you are thinking anything even remotely related to racism, don't. But that's my Granny. She is always in "the know". And I love that memory. Because she's hilarious. I was in the hospital this afternoon and a respiratory therapist came in and asked why she had taken the oxygen out of her nose. Granny said "well the other nurse said my oxygen was fine so I didn't need it." The respiratory therapist said "well, I'm a respiratory therapist and I say your oxygen is not okay" and Granny, in all of her sickness, without skipping a beat said "Well I'm sick and I don't think any of ya'll know what you're talking about!" She's spunky. She's challenging. She knows what she wants. I sure do hope she stays around for a whole lot longer.
Cole
Reason #437 that I cried this week....wait, its only Tuesday. Anyways.....Cole started 1st grade yesterday. Ugh. I feel so OLLLLLLD! I mean, he's handsome! And he likes me to spike his hair and he told me on Monday "Mom, these new kicks are super fly!" My baby is officially growing up. And I always anticipated hating it. But I never anticipated hating it for these reasons. I never anticipated hating him growing up.....because it means that I have to watch him struggle. I never anticipated hate like this, because I thought it would be for things like having to let him go.....not out of concern that the little punk girl that bullied him last year is in his class again and I might have to beat her up. I never thought that watching the frustration on his face, would cause me to cry at his open house, in front of his teacher, who went and told the other teachers that a mom cried at her open house. "Hi! I'm the Mom that cried!" I officially don't need a name at school. Awesome. That was Thursday night. Monday morning, I walked Cole in and handed him his bookbag. I knealt down to give him a hug, and he tripped and collapsed into me, knocking us both onto the ground. Not a single thing about us was graceful......sprawled all out on the multi-purpose room floor. The Kubnicks are here! Good grief! LOL! But he had an awesome first day. I kept Jesus SUPER busy with my begging and pleading on Cole's behalf and sure enough he came home unscathed with a good report in his bookbag. Today, day 2, he came home with a note that says he's a great helper and very sweet.....and "somewhat off task". I chuckled at that one. Welcome to my world, lady ;). I'm so proud of him. He's becoming such a great little man. He challenges me one minute and the next he says "Mom, lets pray".....melt my heart. This little guy....he keeps me and Jesus TIGHT! He's an amazing little dude :)
Zella
Its a good thing that Lady didn't check our kids for bruises. If you were to check Zella out you would be certain that we beat her on a regular basis. Baby girl is ROUGH! Jake joked the other night about how he used to fight a lot in school. And I commented that we didn't need to worry about Cole fighting, because Zella was going to be doing it all for him. She's hilarious. And as Aunt McCall put it "a mess". She gets it from her mama :). She is officially potty trained now. Yaaaaaaaaay daycare! I honestly can take zero credit for this. Her verbal skills, I'll take that, but the potty training, that's all daycare. They deserve a raise. No they don't....but I did say "thank you". And so with this new big girl attitude comes her HUGE and hilarious personality. She's forever asking "whats that?" or "what's that smell?" or "what you eatin'?". She's quick to call herself out too. I'll say "oh my gosh. who farted?!" and very proudly and confidently Zella says "meeeeeeee!" and raises her hand. I have never known a child with gas like Zella Claire. I just laughed out loud at the idea that someone may have just read that and cringed at the word "fart". I live in a house with two boys. Boys that love protein. And broccoli. And eggs. This is my reality. But so Zella is growing up way faster than I remember Cole growing up. She was sitting at the table coloring the other night wearing her Green Bay Packer tshirt, her tiny little "unnies" and her hot pink Chuck Taylors. She kept wiping the hair out of her eyes while she was trying to color and her little hands are still so tiny, but her mannerisms are so grown. When did this happen?! Oh baby fever, you have taken hold of my brain!!! I want to bottle Zella and sell her energy. I want to preserve every tiny little centimeter of her toddler body. I want to make a mold of the way she still just "fits" on my chest. Oh how I love this little girl. Time, can you please, just slow down just a little?
And that's where we are. I'm sure there's more. I'm sure I've forgotten a major event of some variety. But that's our life. A sweet friend of mine is constantly reminding my ever wandering brain....."this day, these tasks". And that's where we are. We are handling today. We are soaking up today. We are doing our very best to remember every second of today. And when we don't seem to be able to handle it all......We are learning to Just Laugh.
Thank you, God, for this crazy, beautiful, laughter filled life :)
Monday, August 6, 2012
"Umbled"
We had lunch yesterday with some sweet friends and I was chasing Zella around the restaurant. I made a comment about Zella no longer being "mobile" - two syllables, long "i". One of the younger girls at the table called me out on my pronunciation of the word and somewhere in the middle of my defense my mind was flooded with memories of my own childhood.
I am born and raised, Southern bred. My Granny still calls lunch "supper" and dinner is well, dinner. We eat malt vinegar on our fries and drink tea that can (and will if you aren't careful) rot your front teeth out. And in the Southern Baptist church like the one I grew up in, people like to "church" words up. Definition : "church it up" = add syllables and change pronunciation in an effort to make the word sound educated or "fancy". My Mom used to take the word "mature" and say "muh-tour" - really, Mom? I can still hear myself telling her how dumb it sounded. Granny's favorite was the word "humbled". She always pronounced it "umbled". It drove me crazy trying to think of a legitimate reason why you would just drop the "h". 29 years later, I might just get it.
These last several weeks in our house have been crazy. Jake and Cole took a trip to Wisconsin and while they were gone, Zella and I did paperwork.....and more paperwork. And then some more paperwork. We got the first visit for our homestudy scheduled a lot faster than I had originally anticipated which kicked my anxiety and multi-tasking abilities into full blown monster force. But I did it. And Jake and Cole returned safely and our first visit came and went (not flawlessly, but it happened nonetheless). On most days in the last couple of weeks, me and God have spent a lot of time together....by a lot I mean, I'm literally talking with Him all day. There's been a lot of me asking Him to please just hold me together. There's been a lot of me begging Him for patience and forgiveness for lacking patience - Cole and Zella are BOTH in a "phase". And there's been that moment, at least several times a day, where things seem to be happening in slow motion around me, as if God is slowing the world down to stop me and whisper "you're doing it".
A couple of months ago before any of this craziness began, I was talking to a friend of ours that recently adopted and they had a long journey. I'm actually learning now that I don't know a single person that has a foster/adoption story that isn't classified as "long". But so she was telling me that the wait was part of her journey. That every day that they spent waiting to go get their son, was a day that God was bringing her and her husband closer to that exact spot where He wanted them. The exact spot that would make them the best parents they could be for this child that God had chosen for them. And I thought I understood. But NOW, I really understand. Because now its our journey too. Its our waiting game. Its our mound of paperwork. Its our heartache for a child or children that we haven't yet met.
Jake decided on Friday that after church on Sunday we would take Cole and Zella to get their new school shoes. This is a luxury that we LOVE giving our kids. We love allowing a new school year to be ushered in with things like new shoes and a new lunchbox. And Friday night I thought about it. And it hit me. And I cried. And I pushed it to the back of my mind. I can't let these thoughts consume me. And so on Sunday, after a long morning with the Zella monster, we went to Savannah for shoes. Shoes were found quickly for Cole. Shoes purchased. I was pushing the stroller out of the store and Cole was walking in front of me swinging his little shoe bag around his shoulders and I lost the composure I had been working so hard on and "it" hit me again....pushing its way to the front of my mind. Think ugly crying in public lost it. I'm pretty sure Jake was terrified. With my face all smushed and tears rolling down my face and full blown ugly cry in the middle of the mall I cried to Jake, "what if our kids in Ukraine don't have shoes?" And in that moment, that's when I started to understand the journey.
Because somehow, God has brought me to this point of ugly crying in public being every bit of ridiculous and sensible at the same time. He has me teetering on the edge of completely lost and totally found. And this is where He wants me. I begged Him to break my heart. I begged Him to make me so much less of me and so much more of Him. And this is the process. This process of stripping every piece of me down to expose my vulnerability so that I have no choice but to let Him lead. Every single day, He's using Jake and Cole and Zella to prepare my heart for what He has next. Whatever, or whoever, that may be. And in it all.....I get it. In it all, I am "umbled". Maybe you are "umbled" when its so much more than it is when you use the "h". So I am. I'm "Umbled" to be a part of His work. To be even considered for this great work that He has prepared for the Kubnick family. To know that He cares for me even on the days when I am weary and weak and tired and grumpy. He hears the cries of my heart, even when my lips can't find the words. He hurts for my insecurities and cheers with my triumphs and He slows me down to remind me "you're doing it". And I am. We are. By His grace, we're doing it. "Umbled".
I am born and raised, Southern bred. My Granny still calls lunch "supper" and dinner is well, dinner. We eat malt vinegar on our fries and drink tea that can (and will if you aren't careful) rot your front teeth out. And in the Southern Baptist church like the one I grew up in, people like to "church" words up. Definition : "church it up" = add syllables and change pronunciation in an effort to make the word sound educated or "fancy". My Mom used to take the word "mature" and say "muh-tour" - really, Mom? I can still hear myself telling her how dumb it sounded. Granny's favorite was the word "humbled". She always pronounced it "umbled". It drove me crazy trying to think of a legitimate reason why you would just drop the "h". 29 years later, I might just get it.
These last several weeks in our house have been crazy. Jake and Cole took a trip to Wisconsin and while they were gone, Zella and I did paperwork.....and more paperwork. And then some more paperwork. We got the first visit for our homestudy scheduled a lot faster than I had originally anticipated which kicked my anxiety and multi-tasking abilities into full blown monster force. But I did it. And Jake and Cole returned safely and our first visit came and went (not flawlessly, but it happened nonetheless). On most days in the last couple of weeks, me and God have spent a lot of time together....by a lot I mean, I'm literally talking with Him all day. There's been a lot of me asking Him to please just hold me together. There's been a lot of me begging Him for patience and forgiveness for lacking patience - Cole and Zella are BOTH in a "phase". And there's been that moment, at least several times a day, where things seem to be happening in slow motion around me, as if God is slowing the world down to stop me and whisper "you're doing it".
A couple of months ago before any of this craziness began, I was talking to a friend of ours that recently adopted and they had a long journey. I'm actually learning now that I don't know a single person that has a foster/adoption story that isn't classified as "long". But so she was telling me that the wait was part of her journey. That every day that they spent waiting to go get their son, was a day that God was bringing her and her husband closer to that exact spot where He wanted them. The exact spot that would make them the best parents they could be for this child that God had chosen for them. And I thought I understood. But NOW, I really understand. Because now its our journey too. Its our waiting game. Its our mound of paperwork. Its our heartache for a child or children that we haven't yet met.
Jake decided on Friday that after church on Sunday we would take Cole and Zella to get their new school shoes. This is a luxury that we LOVE giving our kids. We love allowing a new school year to be ushered in with things like new shoes and a new lunchbox. And Friday night I thought about it. And it hit me. And I cried. And I pushed it to the back of my mind. I can't let these thoughts consume me. And so on Sunday, after a long morning with the Zella monster, we went to Savannah for shoes. Shoes were found quickly for Cole. Shoes purchased. I was pushing the stroller out of the store and Cole was walking in front of me swinging his little shoe bag around his shoulders and I lost the composure I had been working so hard on and "it" hit me again....pushing its way to the front of my mind. Think ugly crying in public lost it. I'm pretty sure Jake was terrified. With my face all smushed and tears rolling down my face and full blown ugly cry in the middle of the mall I cried to Jake, "what if our kids in Ukraine don't have shoes?" And in that moment, that's when I started to understand the journey.
Because somehow, God has brought me to this point of ugly crying in public being every bit of ridiculous and sensible at the same time. He has me teetering on the edge of completely lost and totally found. And this is where He wants me. I begged Him to break my heart. I begged Him to make me so much less of me and so much more of Him. And this is the process. This process of stripping every piece of me down to expose my vulnerability so that I have no choice but to let Him lead. Every single day, He's using Jake and Cole and Zella to prepare my heart for what He has next. Whatever, or whoever, that may be. And in it all.....I get it. In it all, I am "umbled". Maybe you are "umbled" when its so much more than it is when you use the "h". So I am. I'm "Umbled" to be a part of His work. To be even considered for this great work that He has prepared for the Kubnick family. To know that He cares for me even on the days when I am weary and weak and tired and grumpy. He hears the cries of my heart, even when my lips can't find the words. He hurts for my insecurities and cheers with my triumphs and He slows me down to remind me "you're doing it". And I am. We are. By His grace, we're doing it. "Umbled".
Friday, July 20, 2012
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!
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!
Monday, July 2, 2012
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 :)
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 :)
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