We are all heading tomorrow to the place that produced my favorite person- Lake Providence, Louisiana.  I am not sure that ole LP is ready for the circus that is us, but we are coming nonetheless.  Ginny & I are undecided as of yet on whether or not we are excited about this trip- as these feelings can only be sorted out in the 20/20 vision that is hindsight- once we know if those three rascals slept a wink or not in the pelican state.

If you came looking for evidence that there is a god and he is good, we will be flying.

To the faithful bloggy few:

• My grass is growing like Eden.  So much so, that I spent hours this weekend tilling up more of the yard and spreading seeds in other areas.
• No peppers.  Ginny’s garden looks great to me, but she is losing sleep over bugs, my invading grass seed and washout rains.  She wants that Doe’s steak so bad she has stuck with it, but her confidence is waning and I must say that the peppers are definitely the worst looking part of the whole garden.
• We have scheduled an eye surgery for Lena in July in St. Louis.  She is doing great, and kisses us now upon request.  Thus, this dad has all he needs for eternity.  She kisses me.  Not as much as she kisses Ginny.  But who can blame her?
• Anders’ words are picking up, but that doesn’t mean we can understand him any more than when he didn’t have them.  He & I talked for 7 minutes a couple nights ago about turkeys; however, upon further review by his only language peer (mom)- apparently we talked for 7 minutes about cookies.  He has the hair I always wanted, and is nice when he is not mean.
• Hazel is growing sweeter by the moment.  She puts up with so much crap from Anders, that I am pretty sure that my next lesson for her will center on fine tuning her left hook.  She loves well, and everything is exciting and fun.  She gets this from her mom, and I hope it never leaves….and if you’re gonna be that person that rolls their eyes and starts to talk about teenagers, then leave or shutup or both.  I am enjoying what I am getting and I am naive enough to want to stay.

To all you mothers. And I am well aware that such an address covers the vast majority of my otherwise very man-friendly blog.

Just a couple of reminders:

• Everything is a season.  Nothing is here to stay.  All is fleeting.  So, take it in and pray for the gift of seeing the good in all of it.  All- that without answered pleas- can be seen as anything but beautiful.

• You will not be perfect and your children will thank you for it, as they learn to fall back on the models of forgiveness and grace that you displayed through your own life.  Perfection is a lousy pursuit.  Above all, love well.  Doing so is a pursuit worthy of letting perfection tumble and fall.

And to the two mothers dearer to me than the rest.

Mom:: You are a servant.  Each passing year you find new ways to show me how love operates for its recipients.  So much of who I am is bound up in you.  And, these are the parts of me that I never apologize for.

Ginny:: I am humbled to watch you mother.  After 10 years of marriage and having walked through more than most in our decade chocked full of life together….you have amazed me anew this year with your pursuit, love and care for Lena.  Watching you balance those three, while missing that one, leaves me looking for the sidelines.  Who wants to play beside Jordan? I am certain to look foolish at your side.  God has gifted you uniquely for the days we are living.  Thank you for your grace as I stumble to catch up to your love and example to our children.

Last week we celebrated Ginny’s birthday, as well as our 11^th anniversary, with a trip to St. Louis that just happen to coincide with Lena’s doctor appointment at said location.   At least that is the version proffered for the romantics.  For the more practically prone, we went to the doctor in St. Louis and snuck in an expensive meal to acknowledge the date on the calendar.  It’s all a little better for the romantics don’t you think?

Life in the newly-expanded, ranch style residence we call home is precious these days.  I am not sure the casual observer would handpick this adjective; but I do.

There is singing, only to be outdone in volume by the crying.
There are trucks, blocks and train pieces that Anders needs to pick up, but won’t.
There is a dollhouse with all if its tiny, plastic accoutrements; brought to life daily by the imaginative mind of Miss Hazel.
There’s a stander, wheel chair and quite an assortment of toys that blare music and light up- the wake left by Lena.
There are constant epic battles over whatever we have one of.
If Hazel picks it up, then Anders suddenly wants it with a ravenous passion matched only by those who paint their bellies for NFL games.
There are the stall games played by Hazel every night in order to fend off sleep; ones displaying a level of strategic genius on par with Bonaparte.

I need a drink. (kindly oblige.  tuck in.  3 minutes in bed & up)
Why did God make people? (pray with her.  tuck in.  4 minutes & up)
I do not know how to sleep.    (refuse to go in room.  make a threat & shut door.  1 minute in bed & up)
My lovey is hiding, can you help me find it?
(forget what it was I threatened.  search for 5 minutes for the lovey- knowing she hid it.  go find Ginny.  make a wrestling tap out gesture while yelling,  “your it; Napolean is still up”.

There are our apologies offered to the sweet teacher telling us that Anders pushed a kid in his Mother’s Day Out class this week.

I was reminded this week that it all goes so fast.  Life does not have a pause button, and whatever you call life today will be but a memory all to soon.  This is a memo one might think would be emblazoned in permanent marker across my forehead.  A truth that I, of all people, should not need to be reminded of.  But I do need to be reminded.

Every chance I get to slow it down in my mind, to see it for what it is, affords me the opportunity to be thankful.  Otherwise I am left in perpetual motion, taking much for granted and blinded to the truth of these moments; they are fleeting.

The loss of Eliot has made me somewhat of a softy.  I often repeat a peculiar routine with my kids: I hold them tight, I close my eyes, and I take them in.  I smell their necks; I feel the weight of their miniature bodies on my lap.  I think deep down this routine stems from a deep reservoir of fear that there will be a day when these snapshots from my senses will be all I have of them.

I have lived that.  I am living that.

It is not a fear to be fought or overcome.  At least a sliver of this fear is to be welcomed.  Some of it, I believe, is of the healthy variety.  A fear reminding me that each moment is a gift.  A fear that leaves me gasping with the awe of absolute thankfulness- not breathless with dread.

The world moves so fast and carries us along with its rising tides.  Clarity comes when we slow down, when we swim out of the current and take a seat on the beach and see things as they are… precious.

I am a father.  A man.  Who went fishing this last weekend in fact.  I like meat (although salads more, but also meat).

With that backdrop of secure man-ness, I wanted to recommend a book that my friends recently put out.  These are not digital, pretend friends.  These guys are really my friends.  I remember a phone conversation with Seth when he had no idea what to do with this idea for a gift for his wife, Amber.  I am glad he figured it out.  Parenting is tough.  If you find something that encourages you in that journey along the way…spread it.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Men, it would make a great gift for your wife and then you can sneak glances at it when she’s not around.  For public reading, you may want to slide the Ipad into a Sports Illustrated or Grilling Monthly or something testosterone-y like that.

Check it out.  Good people.  Great project.

Mother Letters

It’s a funny stage we’re in these days.  I use we to refer to the arm-candy calling me hubbums (Ok, she has never actually called me that, but we can all agree she should).  Candy & I are making it these days.  I blogged a few days back about how the transition has been hard on the ole marriage….blah, blah & a bear pees in the woods.  Of course it has been hard.  In effect, we have had 3 children in three years and functionally they all live like 3 & unders do- which to the unschooled can basically be translated into the following:

• They are currently unable to meet pretty much every need or desire that crops up, and oh how they crop up, like a bountiful field of sunflowers- or like manure in a cow pasture- if you’re prone to a dark side.
• They actually are completely unaware that the world does not revolve around the mass that comprises their little miniature man & woman bodies.
• They are so beautifully innocent while simultaneously capable of exhibiting parades of selfishness and outbursts of atrocity- ones that leave you sifting through every long-lost relative, trying to finger point the black sheep whose DNA must have leaked into their gene pool.
• Somehow just a smile from one of these rascals is more than sufficient to overcome the frustration, and it leaves you only to wonder if someone could love you like you love them.

I use hard more more like math is hard or kind of like juggling cats is hard- or seems like something that would be hard.  In all fairness to cat jugglers, I have never tried.  I guess using the vague term hard is just my way of admitting that I do not know how to do it all.  I do not know if I am enough (this is not a plea for you to enter comment upon comment telling me how great I am- although, by all means, do go ahead).

And this is where it gets so tricky.  Because I want a life that outshines my capabilities.  A life lived beyond the means of Matt.  But I don’t want to struggle.  I don’t want to face my own frailty.  I fight like hell before throwing up my hands (middle fingers optional), facing down my own inadequacy and bowing my head to ask for help.

How pathetic.  To want a life lived to the full, but to not accept nor desire in any way a life that endures inherent hardship.

I am striving to accept it all as it comes.  It’s much better that way.  It all comes regardless.
I have been most overwhelmed with the beauty of life when I have been most overwhelmed with life.

When the heat of life cranks up, I am tired, thirsty and seared.
But always upon deeper glance I see that it is not me that is burning; rather it is my idea of perfection.
God burns the ideal me in effigy and pours out His love on my insufficiency.

Here are a few pics of some goings on around our house lately.  I don’t post photos often, so when I do, I guess I sort of unload.

DOOR:: When we recently built the addition to our house we did not put a door on the downstairs hallways to the room we built for Lena.  Because we had built the hallway larger as to accommodate a wheelchair and because the door opened into what is our living/dining room area, we knew we did not just want to put a really big, normal door there.  However, we did not know what to do. After coming home with Lena and having to not flip on lights at night- due to the fact that her room still did not have a door, we came up with the following solution.

the hallway

painting

Pedro & Paul

viola'

Basically, it’s a big wooden board from Home Depot that I painted with chalkboard paint; hung up with real-deal barn door hardware.  It really works for the space, and I am quite proud of it.  I am not handy and typically my more eclectic ideas (such as “I know, let’s make a huge chalkboard and hang it like a barn door”) meet a harsh death upon discovering the amount of work, tools and handy-manness required to build the bridge  from idea to reality.  But this one happened, and it did so splendidly.  Therefore, you can expect at least 10 unrealistic ideas in the near future with me pointing to this in order to bolster my case for legitimacy.

FAM:: Our friend and fellow 99 Balloons staffer, Blanca, recently took some family pics.  She deserves a medal for the patience it took to get these…but what a crew.

rascals

PARTING SHOT:: There’s no sufficient description of these, but they had to be included.  To the woman who’s leg is below, did I ask you if I could post this on my blog?  Well, I meant to.

Johnny

SuperMom

photo credit: Daan!

Two pieces of news that I would have never envisioned typing even a couple years ago:

Ginny is currently making her second annual attempt at a garden; I would say, her second garden, but that would be an overstatement the size of say- voting for Ron Paul.  I got nothing against Ron; he is probably a great guy and sharp too; but he’s not going to be our next President and whatever last year yielded, it certainly wasn’t a garden.  If something actually comes from the ground, I will be happy to call it her first garden.

We have a bet.  If she grows any sort of pepper that I will actually eat (and I love all kinds of peppers, and she planted ad naseum) then I will take her on a date to Doe’s.  Doe’s is a steak place that charges more than we typically pay for vittles.  I love peppers.  Ginny loves steaks.  It’s all so confusing, I know.  She’s thrilled and watering and crossing her fingers.  I’m still waiting on a pepper, and saving money just in case.

Possibly even more of an indication that you need to go ahead and invest in your apocalyptic bunker soon- I am trying to grow grass.  I’m not a yard guy, but I decided that I wanted our kids to be able to play barefoot in the backyard.  My logic went as such…we have kids.  We have a backyard.  When the kids play in the backyard, I can almost pull the rare feat of reading the paper on the deck.  We should grow some grass- for the kids. So, I water my yard each evening- the one torn to pieces by our recent construction- and wonder how I got here.

Well, if that update seems lame, then you’re getting it.  Our world is tightly-focused on family and we don’t leave the house much.  Ginny and I remind each other often that it’s a season; and we’re trying to weather this season on each other’s team though often seasons such as this one can trick us all, making us feel as though the other one is actually the opponent.

I’m not vaguely saying that our marriage has been a bit difficult in this process.  I am outright saying that our marriage has been a bit difficult in this process.  And if you know Ginny and I, then you know then you know that the issue is me.  I just pop this little marriage update in so as to not romanticize where we are.  With us outed, I am so honored to walk through this life with Ginny and thankful for the foundations that our relationship sits on.  Keep Dr. Phil at bay.  I am more in love then I have ever been.  Seeing Ginny’s joy through all of the spinning- and sometimes crashing- plates has been a lesson to me.  She is always a lesson to me.  Suffice it to say, it has been a transition in so many ways.  New lives entering family units always are.

Some of you have inquired as to how things have gone with figuring out Lena’s diagnosis and all that is related to that.   We have had appointments with a neurologist in Kansas City as well as a vision specialist in St. Louis.  We found all of it very encouraging and helpful.  Going through the following, that may be hard for you to imagine, but remember that we knew nothing.

Here’s a brief overview, and thanks for caring.
On the neurology-front, basically there are three items to grasp in order to understand Miss Lena:

• She experienced a lack of oxygen, similar to a stroke, around birth that caused a brain injury in the back portion of her brain.  This portion of the brain deals primarily with sight as well as resulting in messages not traveling as well back there (delays).
• Secondly, from what we know of her birth history and family, it is likely that drugs or alcohol were present in her time in the womb.  The result of such would be various delays.
• Lastly, due to her orphanage experience through the age of five, she was denied many of the interactions that supply necessary stimulation for brain development.  Whereas, Lena needed more work and attention, she received less.
• The doctor’s advice was to stimulate her by all means necessary while her brain is still in development mode (reading, singing, etc.).  This was great news and accompanies life in Mooneyville already.

As for vision:

• She is near-sighted.  This is the only doctorly tidbit that we could have told you already.  She pulls things so close that only her nose stops it.  However, the doctor was quick to explain that she is not as nearsighted as Ginny.  Something I could not stop laughing at even though he intended no joke and just sort of carried on in his doctor way- while I continued laughing.
• If an adult sustained the brain injury that Lena did then they would be blind, but because it occurred so young and the brain is a fascination, her brain basically re-routed in a way whereby she has vision.
• Most telling, some testing revealed that her eyes do not track together.  Therefore, her brain receives two different images.  This explains her desire to cover one eye most of the time as doing so allows her to focus.
• We are headed back to St Louis at the end of this month in order to follow up and see what can be done about this.

After writing all of that, I want to be sure you know that we don’t measure our daughter by anything a doctor could possibly say- good or bad.  She’s our daughter.  She’s enough.  And we think she is perfect.

All in all, I guess you could say that there are quite a few things growing around the Mooney house.  I am hoping immensely that I am one of them.

I have not managed to write for quite some time.  This says enough about the recent pace of life.  Writing is for me the grabbing of the Dixie cup on life’s little marathon.  But there are stretches where you just keep moving and the cool quenching possibility that accompanies the cup grab doesn’t seem worth the added effort- and your shorts are chaffing.

If you’re not one for motifs- or exercise for that matter- I am saying it has been wild.  And hard.  And tiring.  I’m only befriending the laptop tonight because Ginny has taken the kids to my parents for the evening to spend the night and I came back home to do some desperately needed chores around the hizzle.

(Oddly, I feel the need to explain all of my allusions.  So, for my older readers or those who think Snoop Dog is from Peanuts….hizzle is my gansta’ slang for house.)

This tidbit of wildness should come as no revelation.  We have a two-year old boy whose favorite word is no, and we’re pretty sure he understands our method of discipline and correction about as much as he understands Mandarin.  That’s a reference to a Chinese dialect, and Ginny’s the only one who even understands his English at this point.  She is like his own personal translator.

We have a three-year old girl, and well honestly she has been perfect and sweet and unbelievable.  She dances ballet and says “forcey” for horse, but that’s only cause we have made a point to not correct her.  She’s been so great lately that I’m deadset her good behavior is a problem.  She must feel responsible for the chaos and is trying to make it all right.  And is she getting enough attention?  If the squeaky wheel gets the grease then she’s the other 3 or the other 17- depending on what your driving.

We have a 5-year old beauty that requires more attention than the 2 or 3 year old.  We’re working on eating and sitting up and steps with help and sleeping and communication and about anything else that five-year-olds should have already been introduced to.

We went to a neurologist in Kansas City and an eye guru in St Louis and both shed quite a bit of light on our girl.  I’ll try to summarize it all at some point, but freakin’ amazing should do for Miss Lena tonight.

I fight guilt when I leave the house headed to work, feeling I have abandoned Ginny to the glorious grind of another day.  Our marriage has revealed the reality of added stress; with all our efforts funneled toward just pulling off life there is little energy left for one another.  And I am in high alert- going all out Chuck Norris- watching for red flags.  Determined to ensure that the stage of marriage accompanying this season of adjustment does not take up permanent residency.

And please don’t let the following strike you as some saintly martyrdom.

We have chosen a hard route.  We have opted-in to a path of greater resistance.  We dove in without the proverbial floaties- heck without knowing how to swim.

But you know what?  We’re dog paddling.  And He is sufficient.

And sometimes, when the waves weaken for but a second, I can see that life under our roof is beautiful.  So much so, that most days I can’t even believe I get to be a part of it.

If it seems I am talking out of both sides of my mouth, it is because I am.

The beauty comes in with the ashes.  Don’t buy the lie that each is mutually exclusive.  They’re a package deal.

It is wild and it is wonderful.

We are stepping towards a new family rhythm, and enjoying the chaos of the season we find ourselves in.  Everyone asks how Lena is doing, and all we seem to be able to muster in the moment is something akin to “really well”.  As we made a point to not take anything for granted before we had her home, we are so thankful for so much that we have discovered about her; and we love to continue to get to know her deeper and sow seeds of love into every corner of her that was devoid of this luxury until now.  So, here’s a little more than really well, but not all of it either- as I assume you didn’t stop by to read a book long post.

Lena loves baths, hugs from her siblings and any edible fruit that is mashed to a pulp.  She cannot currently chew and has had soft, watered-down meals for her entire life.  Meals at the orphanage were about efficiency, as giant spoons ladled heaping piles of mushy who-knows-what into her open mouth.  All that she was ever asked to do was to open wide while craning her neck back and using gravity to do the rest.  So, it’s a work in process, but Ginny tackles each meal and snack with the fervor of a linebacker and Lena has really made strides in the eating and drinking department.

We’re not sure how well she sleeps.  Since she does not make much of a peep when she is awake- another commonality of orphanages- we have found her wide awake and quiet multiple times in the darkness of a night when we had assumed sleep was occurring.  She sleeps in a crib as this is the safest option for her and similar to what she has known.  Of course, she looks a bit funny as she is almost tall enough to dunk, but the crib is working for now.  We swaddle her tightly when she goes down as this is the only way to avoid her reverting to what I lovingly refer to as her “isms”- her institutional mannerisms and habits.

She seems to have a hard time going back to sleep if awakened, and the days where she has been up since 3am do tend to make everything else a bit more difficult, as she is tired and not wanting to work with us.  Oh, and she doesn’t currently sleep in the daytime- no matter how sleepy you might think she is or should be.  Apparently, she’s decided that nighttime is the apt time for beauty rest, and she’s quite unwilling to discuss the benefits of a nap.  She does go down for a daily “nap”, but it’s really to allow her to rest from all the stimulation rather than out of any expectancy of sleeping.

Her wonderful therapists are continuing to get to know her and push her.  She used a walker for the first time last week, and rocked it.  We are headed to a neurology specialist in Kansas City next week as we seek a diagnosis and path forward for her medical needs.

As for Hazel and Anders, they have flip-flopped roles whereby Hazel is the gentle lover and Anders is the one to steer clear of if you were hoping for anything in the ballpark of a peaceful day.  He is all boy.  He is all two.  And at this pace of eating and breaking stuff in our house, I am going to need an additional part-time job.  More importantly, both of them have surprised me with the love that they have poured on Lena.  It’s a post unto itself, and I can only say that it is an obvious answer to prayer in a way I have rarely known.  It is so fun to be surprised by your children and their capacity to love.

Well, there’s a little more than really well, but I have not really scratched the surface.  As for Ginny and I- we are in love and figuring out how to keep it that way with precious few conversations nor time to focus on the other.

It’s wild.
It’s atypical.
I never would have never plotted this course.
Yet I can already see crusty-old me describing the days I now occupy as the best days of my life.

Well, apparently I took a little blogcation.  Upon my return it now seems a bit daunting to catch up on all of the life that snuck in since my last post.  And yes, it’s been a bit wild- in a good way.

• Jet lag.
• Six weeks of work.
• Needy kids (and rightfully so).
• And a slight adjustment that we brought home named Lena.

I referred to the above reality as the perfect storm for a few weeks, but all is settling a bit and slowly a rhythm is forming- and I gotta say I like the beat.

Our schedule of doctors, far-flung specialists and therapists could choke a horse.  Is that a saying?  If so, it’s a horrible one, but against better judgment, I am leaving it in.  Suffice it to say that paperwork and lobbies are becoming routine.

Tomorrow Lena will get an MRI of her brain.  If you know me or have been around long then you know I kind of tend to go just a bit postal in hospital settings.  So, I’ll be pacing and Ginny will be appearing calm- because she knows one of us should do so.

My worry is more centered on the process of meds, I.V., not feeding her for 8 hours and the breakdown that she may have- than what the MRI actually says- although I will care about that the minute all the other stuff is done.

After the MRI comes Kansas City for a Neurology specialist and after that a vision guru in St. Louis.  And you get the idea.  It’s quite hilarous filling out the paperwork as obviously they were not designed for adoptive families of special needs children.

• She’s five.
• We have no idea what she has.
• She has something though.

If you want to know more than that, then let’s get to work.  And there’s a lot to do and lot to figure out and I have this strange paradoxical approach to all of it.

On one hand, I want everything that is humanly possible to be done for her and I want to push her and her doctors and I want to see them surprised when she returns.  And just as soon as this perspective begins to stress me out, wondering if we have done it all right, gone to the perfect doctor, worked hard enough in our home- somewhere in here I am reminded where we brought her from and reminded that if we just wake up and love her and go to bed, then that will be a drastic improvement from where she was.

My prayer, as of late, for Lena has been that He would restore what the locusts have eaten.  And in this prayer, I am reminded that I cannot do all that she needs.  I am not enough.  Of course, I have learned this lesson before now, but forgotten it by noon.  I would like to say that this realization is a comfort, but only on my best days.  I have built a world around my achievement and ability and I like to think that I can make a dent in whatever mountain lies before me.

It’s going to take all that I have and yet its beyond me.  And in this way, Lena is no different than any of our kids.  The best things that we as parents want for our children are those things that we cannot just hand them.  Parenting is a daily reminder of my inadequacy.

Thanks kids.

We blew out the computer charger & the converter has been given us some problems, so updates have been scarce. Instead of typing a post, here’s 3 things to catch you up.

the story we’re living
Although this won’t attest to it, I assure you that I am getting (and loving) time with Lena. However, I’m also the current cameraman & I’ve been honored to stand back while mother & daughter have holy moments such as these.

Click here to view the embedded video.

the story we often don’t tell
When you work with government-run orphanages & are adopting internationally- it is a fine line you walk when discussing the situation. However, this timely news piece explains the scenario here well and is centered on a story just down the road from where we currently reside. I implore you to take the time to read & watch this if you are unaware. Lena was set to be transferred to an institution. Instead, God saw fit that we would take her home- our daughter.

Article::

Video::

a story we loved
Met this family while in Kiev. They were all set & in country to adopt 2 boys, but it went all Ukrainian on them. Loved their willingness to follow divine detours; and love where they ended up.