Dude.

It's about time for a really good funny one, don't 'cha think?

Problem is...I'm not laughing.  Today was awful.  I'm tempted to list off all the things that have made this last week and a half...heck...month so very difficult but I fear it would pull any and everyone considering adopting an older child away from doing so.

And the bottom line is that we are making head-way.  Which brings me to my issue.  Head lice.

Dude.

I pride myself on being one with body functions.  I have no problems admitting to perfect strangers that my tummy is not well yet my "turtles only swim in their home pond" if ya know what I mean?  And if you don't...well...I could go into great detail but I won't because I am discovering that MANY people are squeamish when it comes to poop.

{Boogers...now that's another story and if you've never listened to the lady on Google-definitions say it and define them with your children...well...you're just missing out!}

But head lice.  Can I just pause to say:  DUDE?!?!

Ugh.  So, my precious 13 year old informs me 4 weeks after living with us that she has lice.  Apparently the former foster Mom had treated several others but never her.  We would hope that our children would tell us that they had lice IMMEDIATELY, but I am thinking that she honestly may have been so worried about what we would think??  Who knows...all I know is that a few weeks ago at the end of the most INOPPORTUNE week, I was faced with one of my bigger fears:  microscopic bugs that flipping lay eggs like glue and multiply like gang busters???  Hello!!!!!  I immediately began washing everything in sight.  Even the one set of curtains in the house got washed.  I, the granola, even used chemicals...on almost everyone.  I was so tired that I passed the research baton to my dear OA (yes, you hear blame in my tone).  I was not told that after treating everyone twice and washing and spraying everything to INCLUDE the kitchen sink that I should check again within 10 days.  Because apparently if you miss one nit, the dadgum thing comes back to haunt you worse than any boy groaning "red rum, red rum" and Jack Nicholson's crazy face...really.

So last week was one of the single busiest weeks of my life.  And I'm a busy chic.  And just when I thought I could kick my feet up and rest...a tummy bug blows in and...yep...my youngest informs me that HER head has been itching...like for a WEEK!?!?

Surely nit...not.  UGH.  Insert the biggest DUDE ever.

Not a happy camper.  Homey isn't playing this time.  I have done my research and short of shaving the girls' heads...which I'm still considering...I have purchased every possible chemical on the market.  I'm a nit-picking-fool.  And I shudder every single time.

I am pretty sure that I was the epitome of exhaustion today.  I know that I was not fun-Mom.  And yet, tomorrow morning the sun is going to rise (ugh).  My children are going to greet me as if I were the most amazing Mama in the whole world. And His Mercies are new every single morning...whether I feel worthy or not.  So tomorrow I will find my do-over.  And I'll still have 222 loads of laundry to do and 2,222 nits to pick out, but I am praying that tomorrow I can choose joy and pause in the insanity and blast some silly music and dance around the house with my children (we will, of course, be spraying arousal cans full of chemicals...just in case).

And in the craziest of places...once again...I see His face.  And thank Him profusely for the gift of laughter because today we had none...and it was heinous.  I kid you nit. 

pain

Do you ever have something so heavy on your heart that your body literally begins to ache?  the all-over-i-think-i-have-the-flu kind?

That's where I am right.now.

I am on night three of fitful sleep.  We've entered this land called adoption, see, and it's a volatile place to be.  One minute consists of the most tender of break throughs and the next minute an emotional or behavioral bomb explodes and leaves me to gather all the pieces of fragmented moments and words.  I try to bandage all the bleeding feelings and pain and behaviors as quickly as possible, but it's not nearly as easy as in the examples given by experts in my books.

The thing about biological children is that you make all the mistakes before they are old enough to know or care...you've figured eachother's buttons out well enough to lovingly dance around the rough days (or you've earned the secure, healthy attachment that gives them this amazing ability to look right past and see the good-Mommy trapped within crazy-pms-tired-Mommy).

Adopted children?  Mine are 8 and 13.  There's no clouding over the bad-Mommy moments with them.  And then the guilt sets in because you think you owe them perfection...as if my perfect-Mommying could undo all the pain and lack of Mommying they've experienced prior to our home...how short-sighted I can be.

There's the ticking time bomb right there.  Before.  It's easy to forget there even was a before...those blessed moments when everyone feels intact...together...attached.  And then BAM...like autism slaps in the face...so are the realities that they've not always been there...and it physically begins to hurt.  Because nothing that I do now or any day hereafter can take away what they've experienced in the past. 

{Pausing a moment to praise God for redemption and restoration.  It only took me 34 years to comprehend the magnitude of those gifts.}

We got a letter in the mail today from the State Police.  They spelled the OA's name wrong and didn't bother to even have our correct address in the report...why I am surprised that they consider my children's "alleged" abuse "unfounded" is beside me?  I literally skipped a breath.  I shoulder the pain of all that letter represents to them across my entire body tonight.  And the boy...the precious one with autism who also lived in that home...I cannot stop seeing his big eyes looking into mine when he asked if he could come with us, too?

Ugh.  it's gut wrenching. 

Tonight it isn't enough to "save" two.  There are countless children in need of a forever home.  This has been the hardest thing we've ever done, but MY GOD, that we would do MORE HARD things in His precious protection and will.  May I never run from the uncomfortable again.  May this only be the beginning.  May He use our story to inspire more people to seek His will in adoption.  I was angry for a day or two because I wanted to adopt a baby but He gave me older children...how humbled...how wrong...how small I feel tonight. 

My babies sleep safely and contentedly in thier beds.  They giggled and played and read themselves to sleep.  My teenager prayed for the safety of her former foster brother...but even greater...she prayed for the heart of her former foster mother to be changed.  May I walk in her example of love and forgiveness.  And may that woman truly seek God's help and change her ways and may no other child ever be hurt in that home again. 

As I fight the urge to be cynical and quote facts about abusers...I cling to  Jesus's encouragement to be more like the children.  How precious and easy their faith seems.  How blessed and changed I am by my sweet, amazing 13 year old daughter.  Sigh...the kindof sigh...that hurts.