The Home Stretch…

I love baseball. I love going to Camden Yards and watching the Orioles lose game after game play their hearts out. I always get a hot dog. My husband always gets Dipping Dots, Ice Cream of the Future. We haven’t been at all this year for some reason. We’re busy working around the house doing all the things that need to be done to a 100 year old home, I suppose.

And me personally? I’ve been on pins and needles all summer. I’ve been dreading this since January when we suspected that we would wait all summer to find out if our soon to be child from Vietnam was coming home or not. And wait we have. All. Summer. Long. It’s been difficult. Some days I’m convinced that we’ll get that sought after referral. Other days, I’m convinced that we won’t. For us, if we don’t get it, this will be the end. I turn 47 in October and feel that if this doesn’t work out, then I will just accept it, move on, and love my little precious guy who once wanted a brother so badly.

It’s the home stretch, this week. Do or die as they say in whatever business they say that in. A few more days is all we have before we know what God has in store for us and this child. A few more days.

And then September 1st comes and brings with it the end of the journey for so many hopeful families and orphans. The US will no longer allow adoptions from Vietnam as of that date, at least until Vietnam can get its problems under control. That could be a long time. Years maybe. In a way, I’m proud of the US for insisting that baby trafficking concerns are addressed and eliminated while other countries do not. No slight to them, of course. But, then I feel like, man, can’t we just look extra carefully at the referrals that are coming in while still allowing the adoptions to continue? Does it really have to be all or nothing? These are children we’re talking about. Forget the parents who are waiting back here. Think of those kids. Babies. Toddlers. Even the blessed older children, who we would gladly welcome into our home. Think about them. Explain it to them. Because I can’t.

And so. The homestretch. For us, we might get really really lucky. I can tell you now, that for many other families and far too many children this is not going to happen. I hope God is watching and guiding us and those children when September mourning arrives.

On a lighter note, Little Boy G is sitting next to me with the two Wii controllers at his ears saying, “Hello? Mommy?”

I gotta go now and chase him around the house. Have a good week.

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Pennies from Heaven…

I find myself wondering why kids do what they do much of the day. Even during work. I tell my coworkers about Little Boy G’s latest antics and they laugh and laugh. I guess it’s good that they can find humor in the things LBG does. I certainly do. Even the ones without kids get a kick out of the sometimes bizarre things he gets himself into.

For instance, the other night, he was taking a bath. I use the time to wander about upstairs, picking up his socks and underwear, which he routinely tosses as high as he can into the air just before climbing into the tub. I check on him every once in a while to make sure he’s not up to anything unsavory. Trust me, it happens. Just ask the bars of soap. But I digress…

During one of my checks, I stepped into the bathroom. G is sitting in the tub, holding tightly to..let’s just call it his ‘pennies.’ And he’s grimacing.

“What happened, G? Did you hurt yourself?”

He nods yes, indeedy.

“Did you hurt your ‘pennies’?

Nod, nod, yes, yes.

“What happened?”

“A shark was swimming by and it….bit me.” Grimace, grimace.

I see a shark floating next to him and I pick it up. It’s a plastic shark with very hard, very sharp, and very unforgiving teeth and a mouth that is open just wide enough to fit, well, pennies.

“Oh, dear. G, did you put your pennies in the shark’s mouth?”

Nod, nod.

“Oh, G. Did you think that would feel good?”

Nod, nod.

“But it didn’t, did it?”

He shakes his head, oh no, not in the least.

“Well, let’s not do that again, okay?”

“Okay, mama. He’s a bad shark. I don’t like him anymore.”

Honestly. What was he thinking? I mean, I know what he was thinking, but sheesh, what else looks enticing to him? And should I put it out of reach so he doesn’t hurt himself? Are there any worse stories than this out there? Please share with us if there are. Misery loves company after all.

The County Fair

The fair on Saturday was a lot of fun. Little Boy G had his first Ferris Wheel ride with his Dad. He loved it. Then he insisted on some cotton candy, which we shared; our sticky fingers groping for yet another piece of spun sugar delight. Yes, I’m aware that I’m a diabetic. But I have a huge supply of insulin strapped to my waist. Not a problem.

 

G also got to ride a John Deere Tractor (mini version). Boys love that kind of stuff, don’t they?

G also convinced us to try for as many stuffed animals as we could at the game counters. Sheesh. I’m pathetic. Couldn’t throw a ball to save my life. Sure, the kids win a prize whether they win or not, but we ended up spending about $40 for four tiny stuffed animals, one of which was lost on the way out of the fair. 

The prices, staying on the topic of money, were outrageous. $4 each to ride on the Ferris Wheel. $4 for a soft serve ice cream cone. Had I known that the prices were that high, I would have gone to Disney World instead. Jimmy Crack Corn.

I had my candy apple (I know, I know, full of sugar). But it also had fruit in it, which is good for you.

And that’s all about our trip to the County Fair.