OurLittlePond

Undercover Post #1

2012-07-25T23:19:00.001-04:00

So, I have decided to come out of blogger hiding. But, I am doing it in stealth mode.

I am just going to start posting once again without the hype. No Facebook links, twitter posts or other advertisements. Just me and the keyboard... and you... if anyone still stumbles upon this dusty corner of cyber space.
HELLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO???? (I imagine myself yelling this across the grand canyon, with only my echo in response, "helllooo???? helllooo???? hellooo?")

The truth is, my last two serious posts were greeted with LOTS of negativity. Maybe not within the comments section of OLP, but let's just say that people know how to get in touch with me. And Facebook and email were all a-buzz with disdain for my dis of Santa and my self imposed dethroning from the special needs mom royalty. I am burnt out. And me being ME on this blog has created quite the backlash. It stings a little.

BUT, as much as I hate the fact that I pissed off a few GREAT people, I don't regret my posts because, Santa isn't real and I'm just a mom - plain and simple - no "special needs" required. I stand by what I wrote because I meant it and I still do.

With that being said, I also stand by these statements regarding current events:

The NCAA's punishment of Penn State is appropriate, and

Chic-Fil-A is damn good, despite the anti-gay sentiments of Mr. Cathy.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Until next time my fine- feathered readers.

OUT OF THE DRAFTS: My Resignation

2012-05-02T10:57:00.001-04:00

As I mentioned in the previous post, I have been writing. But, many of the blog posts that I wrote never ended up getting instant "publish" approval. Possibly because of my heated Facebook "flogging" related to the SANTA post (HERE) or due to my "discernment" (as a friend put it) regarding posting my opinions on sensitive subjects, my draft stash is OVERFLOWING. This little post is OUT OF THE DRAFTS. If I can muster some courage, I just might start a series and unveil a few other (offensive) gems from the pile.

I present to you draft #1. I plucked it out of my cyber trash this morning. Enjoy it. Or don't.

******

When Swan was diagnosed with a rare chromosomal disorder at 10 months old I became a "Special Needs Mom" or SNM for short.

Immediately, I put my nose to the grindstone and assumed the role that I thought I was destined for. And... like I do most everything (EXCEPT FAITHFULLY BLOG) I came out guns blazing and ready to be the best darn SNM that I could be. I put time and energy into talking the talk and walking the walk of an SNM. I even became an ambassador of sorts for the syndrome and many new parents came to the community through the network I created at my former, and much more consistent, blog. I was queen SNM and I thought I was doing the world, and more importantly my daughter, a favor. But I wasn't.

Don't get me wrong, I am not ashamed of the diagnosis. It is a part of Swan's story, the part wherein God reveals the miraculous and Swan displays her amazing ability to overcome. I simply refuse to be owned by the diagnosis. Actually, I even refuse to TAKE ownership of it. It doesn't own Swan and Swan doesn't own it. She does not HAVE this syndrome, she was diagnosed with it. It is not SWAN'S syndrome, it is a medical term on a piece of paper used to describe the way her DNA looks. It explains that there is some genetic material missing from her 4th chromosome. But, it does little to explain who she is. I am a mother who believes that words matter. Language is powerful. And lately, I am just sick of the way the syndrome sounds rolling off my tongue or the way it looks written on the computer screen or in printed medical documents. Swan is not the syndrome. And while I am not in denial as some other SNMs might suggest, I simply cannot understand why the syndrome needs to take a front row seat in our lives. You might argue that sweet Swan is less affected by the condition than others with the same diagnosis, and while that may be accurate, I don't believe that is the reason for this change of heart. We still have several weekly appointments, developmental setbacks, medical issues and the occasional 911 call - but those things come with the territory of parenting. Not special needs parenting - just parenting. It's a grab bag of awesome and awful. It's what we signed up for when we applied for adoption or skipped the birth control. Parenting isn't always like chowing down on an entire king-sized bar of Extra Dark Chocolate. In fact, with each of my kids, sometimes it has felt like taking a gigantic bite out of the other brown stuff (ifyouknowwhatimean). I am a parent. PERIOD. And for each of my little ducklings I will never cease to be their biggest, loudest (AND MOST FEARED) advocate. They collectively comprise the center of my world with their specific needs and outstanding gifts. No labeling required. The name of the syndrome Swan was diagnosed with does not need to precede my conversations about her or my fights for her rights. It is not a badge of honor or a means of gaining sympathetic coddling. It's a medical term and it is useless.

Of course, I still HATE when ignorant people use the word "retarded." And I probably will not hesitate to confront my very best of friends when they inappropriately use it in my presence (most of my VERY BEST FRIENDS don't use such careless language). BUT - when a celebrity, friend or acquaintance (anyone who is not an intimate part of our lives) chooses to insert that word into their account of say, their most recent half marathon and the man at the finish line who hurled all over their Nikes, I now purpose to turn my back on the soap box and instead flip them off in my head. I quietly knock them down a few notches on my internal "i-think-you-are-cool-and-respectable-scale" and move on with life. The word RETARDED has been so misused for so long that it is completely devoid of the intended and original meaning and quite frankly I don't even associate Swan with that word. So, I am less offended when someone else associates their sparse and unruly facial hair with it. Go ahead and call your pathetic excuse for a beard "retarded," just know you are now less cool to me both on account of your word choice and your lack of manly chin hair. Even so, I won't get all SNM on you and publicly rip you a new one for your vocab fail. I am over it (and probably you).

I won't buy the bumper stickers, wear the necklaces, flaunt the t-shirts or tattoo the logo of the syndrome on my bicep (which is now bulging thanks to a few rounds of p90x Shoulders and Arms). I won't join the rants and repeatedly Facebook post the propaganda. I won't. I think what I am trying to say is that I am SO NOT an SNM.

I am officially resigning from the role I used to think that I HAD to play. PEACE OUT, PEEPS... errr DUCKLINGS.

SNM will henceforth be used to refer to "SWAN's NERDY MOM."

7.13.0

2012-03-01T17:15:00.001-05:00

7 - The number of draft posts sitting in my blogger home page waiting to be completed, edited, and shared with the OurLittlePond readers.

13 - The number of blog post titles on my running list of "Our Little Pond Future Blog Posts."

0 - The number of posts that I promise to write and publish.

Let's face it, I may be a good writer with big opinions a witty, sarcastic sense of humor and super-cute-photogenic ducklings - but I have commitment issues. BIG ONES. Actually, I like to think that I DON'T have commitment issues. Because my important commitments are to my husband, my babies and my FRIENDS IN REAL LIFE. What I have is BLOG COMMITMENT ISSUES and I don't suspect I will be overcoming them any time soon. So thanks to those of you who have stuck around and continued to wait out the long, 3 month hiatus I am officially ending with this post.

I cannot promise I will be back any time soon. But I can promise that I want to be. I can promise that I do have a lot to say. I just don't know if I will have the time to say it. And what a pity it would be to miss out on living the present because I am consumed with recounting the past. So, let this be a "Hello, old friends! I miss you and think of you fondly" post. Despite my best laid plans it has become abundantly clear to me that I am much better at being in the moment - than blogging the moments.

Maybe with a little bit of luck and some kid-approved time management, the 7 and 13 numbers will decrease. But that 0 will remain...

0 - The number of posts that I promise to write and publish.

EVER.

What My Kids Don't Know about "The Other Man"

2011-12-06T15:26:00.002-05:00

One man lives in heaven and is seated at the right hand of God. Choruses of angels sing His praise. The other man lives at the North Pole with his wife, Mrs. Claus. Choruses of elves sing Christmas carols.

One man knows your thoughts. He hears your prayers and He promises to give you the desires of your heart. The other man reads your letters, he sees you when you're sleeping and he promises to give you the desires of your flesh.

One man says "let the little children come to me, for the kingdom of Heaven is made for such as these." The other man says "let the little children come to me for the line at the mall was made for such as these."

One man is less concerned with whether you have been "bad or good" and more concerned with the condition of your heart. The other man "knows if you've been bad or good - SO BE GOOD FOR GOODNESS SAKE!"

One man performs the miracles of giving sight to the blind, healing the sick, raising the dead and dwelling in your heart through the power of the Holy Spirit. The other man performs the miracles of making millions of toys, carrying them ALL in one gravity-defying, PETA-violating, flying sleigh and fitting his great, big body down your tiny, little chimney.

One man delivered children from demons. The other, delivers toys to children.

One man fed the multitudes with a few fish and a few loaves of bread. The other man feeds himself with multitudes of cookies and millions of glasses of milk.

One man walked on water. The other man walks on your roof.

One man is omnipresent. He is everywhere at once. The other man seems to be omnipresent too. How else could he deliver toys to every child, in every home, in every part of the world on the very same night?

One man will "come like a thief in the night." The other man comes like a gift-giver in the night.

One man will ride on a white horse. The other man will ride on a sleigh pulled by 9 reindeer.

One man tells us that our names shall be written in the Book of Life. The other man tells us that he is making a list and checking it twice.

One man defied the power of death and the grave by arising from the dead after 3 days. The other man defied the power of death and the grave by continuing his Christmas Eve escapades after hundreds of years.

One man we are told, had no beauty that we should desire Him. Yet, He is often pictured with captivating eyes, golden skin and a brown beard. The other man we are told has a belly like a bowl full of jelly. He is often picture with twinkling eyes, wrinkly skin and a white beard.

One man has several names like Jesus, Christ, Lord, Savior, Redeemer, and Almighty. The other man has several names too like Santa, Chris Cringle, St. Nick, and Father Christmas.

One man has had countless books written about Him and songs that proclaim His return. The other man also has had countless books written about him and songs that proclaim his return.

We pray that our children will believe in one man forever. To those who profess to be Christians it is our very livelihood, our eternal salvation to know the one true God, to make a confession of faith and believe in our hearts that Jesus is who the Bible says He is and that God did what the Bible says He did. This one man, we pray, our children will call Savior. We hope that what they have been told about Him they will realize is more than just a mystical story and more than a means of bringing joy and wonder to the Christmas season. We pray that as time passes and wisdom grows, our children will accept by faith what cannot be proven. That they will know that what they have been told about Jesus is truth. We pray that they will always believe.

Our children will not always believe in the other man. He is, after all, simply a made up character, the lead in a feel-good tale that has been told for hundreds of years. He is not really who we say he is, and he didn't really do what we say he did. We know that one day our children will realize that everything they thought they knew about Santa was a lie, a mystical story their parents told to bring joy and wonder to the Christmas season. We know that as time passes and wisdom grows our children will disprove the mysteries of Santa Claus. They will discover that what they have been told about Santa is untrue. They won't always believe.

I don't know that it is possible for these two men to co-exist in the hearts of our children, and on the tongues of the adults in their lives without producing unnecessary distraction and eventual confusion. Why is it that we think that our God and the way that He orchestrated the birth of his son needs more fanfare, more magic and more tradition beyond what comes from the true story of Christmas? And why, in the season of celebrating the life of the one who is Truth would we consider forsaking truth in the name of holiday fun? For whom do we say we tell the story of "the other man?" What benefit begets the child who is led to believe the "tall tale" of Santa Claus? Is Jesus not enough?

For us, there is only ONE MAN of Christmas.

What my kids don't know about "the other man" is that he is real.

Because - HE ISN'T.

*****

*This post is PART 1 in a series. Stay tuned for PART 2: What my Kids Do Know about the Other Man.*

Jumping Back In!

2011-12-01T15:59:00.000-05:00

Hey bloggy world - WE'RE BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I admit, I have been a terrible blogger. But as I mentioned previously in THIS POST, living is greater than blogging and when our schedule is overloaded making it necessary to lay some tasks down, it's the blogging that goes first. It's not because I do not love and appreciate our followers but, priorities reveal the heart of a person and my heart is fixed fully on my family and friends - THE TANGIBLE ONES who exist beyond the computer screen and cute "follower" photos.

In the last month and a half (yes, it really has been THAT LONG) our flock has been busy. Here are some events of note:

D.W. was officially adopted in late October! We hosted a celebratory "sips & sweets" party at our home to thank many of the friends and family who have supported us throughout the process! D.W. is so very loved.

It snowed, in Central Pennsylvania, IN OCTOBER. Daisy and Swan were in heaven. While many assumed it was D.W.'s first snowfall - it was not. It snowed on the day that we met him (April 1st, 2011) and brought him home with us FOREVER!

Swan was entered into a contest with other children who were diagnosed with the same genetic syndrome. It was a costume contest and she was dressed as The Little Engine That Could. Thanks to our fabulous friends and family and their own personal networks, Swan raked in over 900 votes and won an IPAD2 to assist her with her speech and language development. We were overjoyed!

I baked. It's how I express love. The photos below show the depths of love I have for an amazing friend whose birthday we celebrated in early November and a sweet little 6 year old whose mom created the most adorable Asian Tea Party celebration.

Drake and I continued with our commitment to P90x! While I was basically a big, grumpy mess during the first several weeks, I am now happily assimilated to the Tony Horton World and so happy to be supporting my husband who has already lost 25 pounds! (Sorry no pictures. We just aren't the post-half-naked-pictures-on-the-internet type. Although... we did take them and they do reveal major transformation. Maybe if we are "real life" friends we will show you. MAYBE.)

In addition to all of those exciting things, the last month and a half was filled with fervent prayers for Baby Ruby to come home from Ethiopia and much celebrating when she finally DID! Drake spoke about orphan care and adoption at our church in honor of National Adoption Month and Orphan Sunday, I sipped coffee with friends, attended the Gifts that Give Hope Fair, gave thanks with family, dined with friends and decorated for my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE TIME OF YEAR - CHRISTMAS! Sure we also had doctors appointments and a 12-minute Swan seizure complete with a 911 call and an ambulace - but those are small and insignificant occurences in the scheme of things.

It was a busy but oh-so-valuable season filled with answered prayers, family moments and friendship. I feel entirely grateful and even undeserving of our "beauty-FULL" life. Hoping to share more of it with you in the December days ahead.

So This is the Baptism of Fire

2011-10-21T16:29:00.002-04:00

This morning I woke before 5a.m. Not a creature was stirring, not even a Swan. I had one hour until my intended wake up time but there was life and energy behind my adjusting eyes.

"So," I thought to myself "I might as well begin the day."

I brushed my teeth, grabbed a glass of water and a snack and crawled back into my still warm bed, computer in hand.

My computer is the only successful journal I have ever kept. There's just something about recording my reflections as they pour out like music- in harmony with the tapping of the keyboard. My thoughts form words that chase the flashing cursor across the white screen of my hundreds-of-pages-long Word document and my heart spills into messy sentences and un-spellchecked paragraphs. This is my solace. This is my secret place.

Today, like so many days before, I opened the computer and began to type. I was pondering a verse in the third chapter of Matthew, a verse that was challenging me in profound ways to see the beauty in difficult circumstances. Not only to see it - but to desire it.

"His winnowing fan is in His hand, and He will thoroughly clean out His threshing floor, and gather His wheat into the barn; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

-Matthew 3:12-

This blog post is not meant to be Bible 101 but the context of the verse is this: In Matthew 3 John the Baptist is baptizing people with water. While he does this he testifies of Jesus declaring that Christ will come baptizing with fire. (Cue verse 12). In my own words, the first baptism is a baptism of repentance, an outward expression. The other is a baptism of refinement, an inward purging of that which is unnecessary, destructive, superficial or unfruitful. While the former baptism does not necessarily change the heart - the latter leaves no other option. What remains after the baptism of fire is only what is pure, strong and mature.

In my computer-lit room, I typed. And as I did Wisdom whispered, "The unquenchable fire is good. Desire it. Pursue it. Seek it as though you are seeking treasure. This fire produces holiness but first it must strip you of all that is dull, lifeless and unimportant."

I considered the act of winnowing. John the Baptist said that Jesus had a winnowing fan in his hand. It is a tool used to separate the wheat from the chaff, or any grain from the outside husk or shell that encases it. And so I pictured myself standing before Christ in an old wooden barn. It was damp and cold but there was a security in His company. Like a farmer shucking corn, I saw Him raise the winnowing tool in his hand and gently peel away my outer layers. They fell to the splintered floor like feathers in shades of gray and brown. As he continued his work bright colors began to peek out of the spaces where my thick, dull covering had once been. He continued, kicking away the large piles of debris on the floor, taking inventory of His work and nodding his approval. But then with a look of concern he put his hand on my shoulder and though no words were spoken I had the sudden realization that I was not going to like what came next. Warmth from his hand filled my body and brought the reassurance I needed to keep my feet planted firmly on the barn floor. I winced, when I saw flames enter in through the open door just beyond Him. They covered every inch of space around me until I too was swallowed in fire. I felt pain. I beat the floor with my fists. I pleaded for relief.

And then it was over.

When I looked down at myself I was glowing with a brightness far beyond the vivid colors that existed before the fire. I was giving off light, an inviting glow in sparkling, golden tones. The barn floor was no longer dark and the piles of my former self were nowhere to be found. Not even ashes remained. My Jesus stood in the corner of the room with an ear-to-ear grin, arms folded in pride. I think I may have even heard Him chuckle.

I exited my thoughts and began to type:

"So THIS is the baptism of fire, one of loss and pruning and pain. The shedding of my chaff, the layers of security, self-protection and independence that I wrap myself in, keep me from truly experiencing faith. Maturity comes through the fire of testing. And while my humanity seeks to stand beyond the flames' reach, the spirit within me craves to dive into it knowing that what will remain when I resurface will be far more beautiful than what previously existed.

This is the baptism of fire, one of loss and pruning and pain. But this loss leads to abundance, this pruning leads to a harvest and this pain leads to pure joy."

*****

The above post is dedicated to two sweet friends. One who, just today, received some frustrating news regarding the homecoming of her daughter, Ruby who is currently in Ethiopia where she was adopted several months ago, but because of some "red tape" is still awaiting clearance to travel home. The other who is patiently awaiting the arrival of her adopted child through a season of heartache and hope defferred.

I am confident that these two friends will emerge from their own personal baptisms of fire with testimonies of the pain which leads to pure joy. I am faithful that when their adoption stories are complete they will glow with a purity that results from such refining and our Jesus will be standing with his arms folded, smiling at these amazing women and chuckling with pride at what has become of them.

Mommy's Heart Went Pop!

2011-10-19T09:41:00.004-04:00

It's been 20 days since I planned to blog about a book that is near and dear to my heart. 20 days!!!

I had every intention of blogging about Mommy's Heart Went Pop! on my birthday. But, I blame weddings, parties and P90x for sabotaging those plans. It has been a busy month.

Now, I am back in blogging mode and cannot wait to tell you about the best book I have read all year. (MAYBE EVER!)

Mommy's Heart Went Pop! was written by friends of mine. We are connected by a sincere passion to see orphans welcomed home. We also each have adoptive children of our own.

The book tells the story of a Mommy whose heart grew and grew with thoughts of the baby she would one day adopt. When they finally meet that growing heart POPS - and as the story goes - the love that the Mama had been saving just for her little boy, comes pouring out.

Adoptive parents can relate to this analogy. Adoption truly is a pregnancy of the heart. While many women have protruding belly buttons and swelling ankles that broadcast their impending motherhood to onlookers, we have little physical evidence to show for the love and hope in our hearts, the motherhood that awaits through the miracle of adoption.

This AMAZING children's book describes the anticipation of adoption perfectly and is effective in conveying the experience to young and old alike! Not to mention, the words and illustrations reveal a transracial adoption. If you have a multi-colored, multi-cultural family of your own you probably know that books about transracial adoption are rare. Children's books - even rarer.

Here is a glimpse at the story (you just might recognize a sweet baby boy!):

Mommy's Heart Went Pop! is expected to be in print next Spring.

But we need your help.

Currently, pledges are being requested to support the publishing of the book. Every dollar counts in the effort to see this beautiful story on bookshelves SOON. There are only 15 days left in the fundraising process and nearly two thirds of the funding is pledged.

If you are interested in learning more about Mommy's Heart Went Pop! go to the website RIGHT HERE. If you would like to make a pledge check out the fundraising page HERE. There are rewards for donating (like signed copies of the book) so go take a look!

All proceeds from the sale of the book will go to the RubyMyles fund, providing adoption grants, support and other solutions to the orphan crisis.

I cannot say enough about this book. Obviously, as an adoptive mother to two beautiful miracles the story resonates with my own heart. Check back soon to read my "POP stories" - blog posts that detail the moments I met Daisy and D.W.

I Am Grace

2011-09-28T15:08:00.001-04:00

I know a little girl, her name is Grace.

Her toothless grin is constantly stretched wide, dimples sinking deep into her freckled cheeks. Her blue eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea and her curly hair, the color of sand. She likes to wear sparkly tutus and ballet slippers that match the pink Kool-Aid mustache above her lip. SHE IS ADORABLE...

FROM A DISTANCE.

But when you spend time with Grace your ears hurt. Her voice is loud and grating. She has absolutely no concept of personal space and her hot breath smells like ham and cheese. She dances over your feet while you walk and is notorious for stepping on the heels of your shoes from behind. She rarely follows directions, is easily distracted and often times obnoxious. And though she has the best of intentions, the greatest of which is to love those around her, her attempts typically end in disaster. Sobbing children, exasperated adults, broken mirrors, overturned chairs and cookie crumbs can be found in her wake. Grace is a walking wrecking ball.

And her mother knows it.

"Grace" she says in a voice as warm as the sun "don't do that."

"Grace" she says "please listen to your teacher and keep your hands to yourself."

"Grace" she says "maybe the little girl doesn't want to try your juice. Please stop chasing her."

"Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace."

It's ironic isn't it, that the name of this little girl is the very virtue most necessary in parenting her? Grace's mother operates in a spirit of grace. With each correction and every warning she gently guides her daughter to do better, to be better and to LOVE BETTER. Her mother has the grace to see the good intentions through the calamity and so she gives wisdom in sweet, simple sentences and then she waits to offer wisdom again just as pleasantly as before.

Yesterday, I overheard Grace's mother whisper "Grace." And it hit me.

I AM GRACE.

I am that well-meaning child who looks much cuter from a distance, desiring desperately to love others in a million mistaken ways. I mess up - A LOT. My good intentions are sometimes met with criticism, judgement and anger. My best laid plans fail and often I end up showing far less love than I do selfishness. Hurt feelings, confusion and offense can be found in my wake. I am a walking wrecking ball.

And my Father knows it.

And just like Grace's mother, my Heavenly Father parents me - with GRACE. He whispers his wisdom to me and allows me to try again. His love is strong, pure and unconditional. He guides me to do better, be better and to LOVE BETTER. God never forces me, but instead gives me the freedom to pursue his precepts so that I might truly learn how to love those around me more than I love myself. He is calm and gentle in his discipline. So kind in his correction.

"Grace" He says "whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me."

"Grace" He says "love as I have loved you."

"Grace" He says "I have shown you what is right."

"Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace."

I Am Grace and she is me. Just two little girls with big hearts, fierce love and gracious parents who are strong when we are weak.

*****

"And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.'”
2 Corinthians 12:9

Laundry Detergent Mystery

2011-09-24T15:05:00.002-04:00

The last post that I wrote about Drake, RIGHT HERE, received a great response. While not many people commented on the actual blog post, I did receive emails, Facebook comments, messages and even phone calls (HI DAD) encouraging my beloved husband's sense of humor.

So, when that humor struck again I knew I had to share it with the Our Little Pond audience. Apparently, you all like this sort of thing.

*****

It was a day like any other day. I hurried to the laundry room to make a dent in the mountains of dirty clothes that covered the floor while my three little ducklings sat around the kitchen table snacking. The girls ate apples and D.W. gnawed on his teether.

I turned the dial on the washing machine and reached for the detergent.

We have used the same laundry detergent for 7 years, ALL FREE AND CLEAR. Over the course of those seven years I have never noticed a change in the product's labeling. It has always been a white bottle with the word "all" written in yellow lower case letters.

I began to pull the detergent from the shelf and noticed a purple letter "s" sketched after the name. "That is interesting," I thought to myself "maybe they have now added fabric Softner into the formula. Or maybe the 's' stands for something else. Strong? Stainlifter? Scented? Soak?" I was perplexed. So I took the detergent off of the shelf and held it at eye level searching for a clue to the new label.

And then... I saw the "b."

Sketched before the detergent name was a purple "b." Only this "b" was obviously handwritten onto the bottle.

b "all" s.

The bottle spelled BALLS.

I admit that I laughed.

Then I called Drake at work and demanded that he keep his balls off of my detergent.

EYE WITNESS

2011-09-15T15:53:00.003-04:00

This morning I sat, dampened by the combination of weather and my overwhelming hatred of rain gear, in the corner of a quaint, city coffee shop.

I sipped on a perfectly-spiced chai tea latte and listened to my friend explain that she wants to see God do something BIG. "Do you know what I am saying?" she asked. "It's like I want him to prove himself."

Of course I can relate to her desire. I think that we all can. Whether or not we believe in God (which I do) or we believe in coincidence (which I don't) we all desire to witness a miracle. It is within our human nature to root for the underdog and hope for the happy ending. Somewhere, twisted within the DNA of every person is a longing to see slim chances result in big victories and dead ends become new beginnings. The truth is, we believe in the unbelievable. We do.

We believe in miracles and so we hope.

We hope that just maybe we can have a front row seat to one (OR TWO, OR THREE, OR FOUR!)

After being puked on and screamed at by my teething 6-month-old, I took my obvious cues to evacuate the coffee shop and drove to my daughters' preschool. As I waited in the school hallway for the clock to strike 11:30 I peeked into a classroom window and witnessed a miracle of my very own. I saw the unbelievable. In that moment my friend's statement echoed in my mind. "It's like I want him to prove himself." And I knew that He had.

A little over 3 years ago God blessed me with a beautiful baby girl, my second daughter, Swan. And in the minutes following her uncomplicated birth, the months searching for a diagnosis and the years after learning of her rare chromosomal condition, He has proven himself.

Today, with my nose pressed against the glass of a preschool window, I watched my baby girl who at 10 months was diagnosed with a genetic deletion that would supposedly render her unable to walk, talk or eat normally, a condition marked by uncontrollable seizures and mental retardation, a condition for which there is no cure and very little research. Today I watched her be a normal kid in a typical classroom. She was carrying a cardboard brick and playing with three other kids who were obviously on a mission to build a skyscraper during recess. Then, I watched as the teacher shouted instructions over the giggling children to clean up and be seated. Swan promptly followed directions. When the doors swung open and it was her turn to go home she took one look at me and sprinted towards my open arms screaming "Hi, Mommy! Hi!" As we were departing hand-in-hand my heart was overflowing with the gratitude and pride that only comes from defying all odds. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. One of Swan's teachers stopped me to gush over how well she had done in class and told me something that every mother longs to hear, "Your daughter has a friend. She and Haylee played together all day. They really like each other."

"YOUR DAUGHTER HAS A FRIEND."

TEARS. ROLLING. DOWN. MY. CHEEKS.

Yes, I have always believed in the unbelievable for my daughter. I have always believed that despite medical predictions she would walk, talk, and live a healthy, happy friend-filled life. But today - just like so many days before - I was an eye witness.

SWAN IS MY MIRACLE. God did something BIG. And I know He will do it again!

WHAT MIRACLE ARE YOU HOPING FOR? WHAT MIRACLES HAVE YOU ALREADY WITNESSED? I WANT TO KNOW!

Empty Nesters

2011-09-01T09:40:00.003-04:00

NESTING.

It is the phenomenon of impending motherhood, transforming expectant mamas into organization-addicted, laundry-extraordinaire, neat freaks. And it happens to ALL of us. In uniquely embarrassing displays of neurotic behavior we do the silly things we can to still our anxious hearts and give our minds the peace (albeit irrational) that we are prepared for the demanding job of parenting. All mothers nest. ALL MOTHERS. Even adoptive mothers.

This morning my heart wept for my "empty nester" friends. No, not those friends who have raised their children and ushered them into the independence of adulthood. But, those expectant mothers whose children are born of their hearts and not of their bodies. The mamas who are pregnant with love and hope for the children that God created in another's womb. Cribs are set up, nurseries prepared, tiny clothes hang laundered and color-coordinated in the closet, car seats purchased, strollers tucked in the garage, diaper bags packed, hearts overflowing. And while biological mothers nest with the confidence of an end to the phase, marked by uncomfortable swelling and belly buttons that pop like meat thermometers; adoptive mothers nest indefinitely with empty arms and flat bellies. There is no such thing as "full-term." In adoption, 40 weeks does not a baby make.

Mothers nest because they are expectant, not because they are pregnant. The act has little to do with hormones and much to do with our innate, God-given desire to nurture young life and pour ourselves out for the helpless and vulnerable, for children. Women were created to mother and the instinct to nest is evidence of that fact.

Now, imagine not knowing the faces of your school-aged children, the ones whose beds are made with love and prayers beneath the windows of the perfect sibling bedroom, yet to be lived in. Imagine a nursery wall painted with care, a tree-lined canvas that awaits cries and coos of an unidentified inhabitant with no estimated time of arrival. Imagine a rocking chair swayed by the rhythm of a woman who will not labor physically at full term, but who labors daily in prayer and conviction petitioning obstacles and red tape to flee, willing that the great unknowns of time and circumstance would come "full term." Imagine the battle that rages in the heart of a mother who has no say in the care of her child for the first 9 months of his/her life, even longer. While injustices against children can be overlooked by the woman who holds hers closely within herself, the threats of drug exposure, abuse, trafficking and disease are never ignored by the mother whose children are momentarily beyond her reach.

Can you imagine expecting in this way? I can attest that there is a distinct aching in the anticipation and an emptiness in the nesting. Loving a child deeply in the mystery and vulnerability of the adoption process isn't easy. But, IT IS WORTH IT!

Praying for my "empty nester" friends today and asking each of you to do the same.

Living > Blogging

2011-08-29T08:29:00.001-04:00

I took over a week off from blogging. A few fellow bloggers mentioned that such extended breaks are bad for "bloggy business." I have even been told that I should make it a mission to write to my cyber audience daily, at least in these first months of Our Little Pond.

BUT - since I am not really into "BLOGGY BUSINESS" I disregarded those friendly words of advice and gave my keyboard a much needed vacation.

You see... this blog, quite simply, IS NOT my life - it is ABOUT my life. So when my days are just too full to spend 20 minutes telling you about them, I won't - and that is OK with me. I hope that it is OK with you too.

Consider it good news when you do not receive an email notifying you of a new post, when your Facebook newsfeed doesn't light up with Our Little Pond links and when your RSS feed is "getting hungry." It is evidence that I am enjoying my family, giving baths, braiding hair, introducing my niece to the latest dance music, spending time with new friends, sharing adoption stories with an expectant mama, entertaining guests, helping best friends move into a beautiful home, celebrating a handsome 2-year-old, enjoying movie night with my "big girl" and watching a fire burn in the backyard with my love.

Living is greater than blogging - and now that I have made my priorities clear: don't be surprised if I periodically disappear from the blogosphere again in the future. I am enjoying life and I encourage each of you to do the same.

Have a great week!

Warning: Chicken Lettuce Wraps May Produce Poor Manners

2011-08-18T10:01:00.003-04:00

I posted this picture on my personal Facebook page last night.

I wasn't sure what sort of reaction the photo would produce. I, of course, thought the sight was hilarious which is why I grabbed my camera and captured the moment. While I am well aware that slurping the last traces of sauce from a plate is not really a lady-like, well-mannered thing to do - every mom appreciates the knowledge that her kiddos actually ENJOY her cooking.

And it is with those sentiments that I chose pride over propriety and uploaded the picture.

So far, none of my Facebook friends have berated me for this barbaric display of food affection. BUT MANY HAVE ASKED FOR THE RECIPE.

While I cannot promise an identical reaction from your little flock (since not all of them have a Daddy who insists on modeling the slurping behavior - in the spirit of "waste not, want not") - I can promise that this healthy meal will be a hit for young and old alike!

ENJOY!

CHICKEN LETTUCE WRAPS

Pouring Sauce

combine the following and CHILL for 20 minutes (which is about as long as you need to cook the chicken):

1/4 c. sugar

1/2 c. warm water

2 TBSP soy sauce

2 TBSP ketchup

2 TBSP rice vinegar

1 TBSP lemon juice

1/8 tsp. sesame oil

1 TBSP Dijon mustard

2 heaping tsp. minced garlic

Stirfry Sauce

combine and set aside for use on cooked chicken:

4 TBSP brown sugar

4 TBSP soy sauce

1 tsp rice vinegar

Chicken and Veggies

In small skillet cook the following (until onions and mushrooms are tender) and set aside:

1 TBSP olive oil

1 TBSP sesame oil

8 oz. of chopped water chestnuts (chopped to the size of corn kernels or smaller)

1/2 c. mushrooms (chopped to the size of corn kernels or smaller)

1/2 onion diced

3 heaping tsp. minced garlic

Meanwhile, in larger skillet heat 1 TBSP olive oil and 1 TBSP sesame oil. Once the oil is hot, cook:

3 Chicken Breasts (or 10 chicken tenderloins) cut into small chunks

When the chicken is cooked throughout add the stirfry sauce. Finally, add the veggie mixture. Combine completely and place in a serving dish.

Wrap the chicken in iceberg lettuce leaves. DON'T FORGET TO ADD THE CHILLED POURING SAUCE!!

Adoption Boxes

2011-08-17T10:05:00.000-04:00

Daisy and DW are adopted.

In this family we LOVE adoption. We talk about it frequently and thank God for it just as often. We strive to support and encourage other adoptive families in their journey.

We also make every attempt to instill in our kiddos a pride and recognition of the sacred events and selfless choices that led up to their welcome into our family. We find value in the information that we have about their birth families. We consider their hospital records and adoption paperwork precious. We are indebted to their foster parents who spent days loving them before we could hold them in our arms. We are in awe of their birth mothers who cared for them in their first 9 months and gave them life.

We LOVE our children's stories - testimonies of love and redemption - so we do all that we can to honor their history and celebrate ADOPTION.

Which is why I was SO EXCITED when the ADOPTION BOXES came in the mail.

Each box includes a picture, the year of birth on the spine and this quote on the back:

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined."

-Henry David Thoreau

The boxes are filled with mementos of Daisy's and DW's adoption stories including questionnaires completed by their birthmothers and the clothes they were wearing when they entered our arms.

CHECK THEM OUT:

Their names are blurred out for privacy but the front reads "our sweet ENTER NAME HERE."

This is DW's box. It includes adoption paperwork, his hospital bracelet and nursery name tag, a book, shoes and letter from his birthmom, and the clothes he was wearing when we met him.

This is Daisy's box. It includes adoption paperwork, info about her birthmother, the clothes she was wearing when she was placed in our home and a letter from her foster mom.

Now, go make one for your own little loves! I created these adoption boxes at Paper Coterie and trust me you WILL NOT be disappointed with their quality or customer service. The boxes sell for $38 but if you purchase before August 30th you can get yours FOR FREE (plus shipping!) Just use the discount code listed on the LUCKY DUCKY page.

Stretching A Dollar (OR 54 Dollars)

2011-08-16T08:24:00.000-04:00

The items below retail for $54. Two 24 ounce cans of formula and one 6-pack of cereal bars (all brand name). I cringe when I consider dropping that much money for only 3 items. Especially since there remains roughly 7 more months of baby formula drinking in this household.

Thanks to coupons, sales circulars and rewards programs I don't ever pay retail for my purchases. Instead of spending $54 dollars on the above 3 items I spent the same amount on the items pictured below. Two 24 ounce cans of formula, 2 6-packs of cereal bars, 2 10-packs of granola bars, 1 shampoo, peanut butter cups, and an 80-pack of diapers. All name brand. (Retail value: $98).

More for less. Something for nothing. I just love this stuff. And I think that you should too! One of my friends commented on the LAST COUPONING POST and said that she knows she should get into couponing but was concerned about the time commitment.

There is definitely a time commitment needed to organize and find the best deals. I like to clip on Sunday mornings with a warm cup of coffee and the silence of sleeping children. Based on our weekly savings divided by the hours I put into this "hobby" my hourly wage is about $20-$30. Who doesn't have a few hours to make that kind of money?

Love a good deal but aren't into couponing (YET)? Be sure to check out the LUCKY DUCKY PAGE for online deals and coupon codes.

If you are considering couponing - WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW? And if you already are a CRAZY COUPON LADY (or GUY) what tips do you have?

Crash Landing

2011-08-15T14:29:00.002-04:00

This morning I stumbled upon a plane crash. I actually witnessed the tiny, propeller plane wreckage in person. The plane was damaged on one side, the wing folded in on itself. And while it was obvious that the pilot executed a water landing there were no witnesses - or at least no witnesses willing to speak - on the events leading up to the unfortunate incident.

Good Samaritan that I am, I plunged right into that water and pulled the plane out with my bare hands. Must have been the adrenaline (and the knowledge that we DO NOT have public sewer.)

The plane could not be salvaged.

Air traffic control was rather unhappy about that.

IN OTHER NEWS: The TOILET PAPER is in tact. I repeat, the TOILET PAPER is in tact.

Money Saving is My Drug

2011-08-10T09:58:00.002-04:00

We made a resolution on January 1, 2011 that is still going strong:

"USE ALL RESOURCES AVAILABLE TO SAVE MONEY AND PAY OFF DRAKE'S STUDENT LOAN - ASAP." It is our only debt, with the exception of our home mortgage and since we aspire to live a debt-free, creditor-free life we knew we needed to knock out the uncollateralized loan with haste.

At the beginning of the year this feat seemed nearly impossible. We had a 4 (now 5) member family living on one income, 1 child in preschool and in dance class, 1 child still in diapers, and a baby on the way with half an annual salary's worth of adoption expenses and all the money-sucking needs of a newborn.

With skepticism fully in tact, I took some pointers from a dear friend on the art of couponing, subscribed to the Sunday Newspaper and any online coupon sites that I could find and jumped right in to my new life as an obsessive, coupon-binder-wielding freak. Over 7 months into the journey, we have already saved $1,400 on groceries (as compared to 2010) and have an abundance of food and toiletries to show for it.

The binder. Organized by genre and expiration date.

I am hooked. It's like a drug. I can't stop. Hearing the "beep-beep-beep" of the register proclaiming my CVS ExtraCare Bucks, reviewing grocery store receipts for the savings and gas points, seeing a closet filled with shampoos, conditioners and razors (which if you must know I used to change only 3 times in an entire year) - IT'S ALL A HIGH.

$0.31 purchase. Plus $3 in ExtraCare Bucks = I GOT PAID $2.69 = HOOKED.

But, little did I know that couponing is only a gateway drug to more savings tactics. It's not enough any more to simply save at the grocery store. I must have more savings - must bring down that student loan balance by even more.

Must. Save. Must. Payoff. Chills. Sweats. Have. To. Feed. The. Addiction.

Which is why I am glad that Goodwill exists - the Goodwill Bargain Room to be exact. Where all clothes are $0.85. It's a massive thrift store treasure hunt to find pristine condition, name brand clothes in the 20+ troughs of leftovers from the actual Goodwill Store. There is no order or organization - just heaps of fabric EVERYWHERE and if you listen closely you can hear the voice of Ariel from The Little Mermaid singing "Ahhhh Ahhh Ahhhh, Ahhhh Ahhhh, Ahhhh Ahhh Ahhh" as an unworn Banana Republic shirt is plucked from the grips of the old-lady, mothball-scented sweater and the pilled (probably peed on) Transformers sleeping bag, circa 1984.

Maybe The Little Mermaid's voice is just a hallucination. What with all the DRUGS. But the savings are real. SO VERY REAL!

$22.48 = 11 items NEW WITH TAGS, 2 dresses, 13 shirts, 12 pants/skirts. 8 name brand (Banana Republic, H&M, Gap, Children's Place) and 10 Target brand.

Oh and the super-cute crate for $0.50. Thinking of staging an intervention yet?

Do you coupon? Or have any desire to coupon? How do you save money? TELL ME YOUR SECRETS! (It's only fair since I have told you a few of mine on the LUCKY DUCKY page!)

Guess How Much I Love You

2011-08-08T21:19:00.003-04:00

We have this book that we read to the kids, it's called Guess How Much I Love You.

The main character is a sweet, endearing rabbit named "Little Nutbrown Hare."

The girls have a stuffed bunny by the same name. He came with the book. His name is "Little Nutbrown Hare."

But Drake calls him - LITTLE BROWN NUT HAIR. He will read the book from cover to cover calling him LITTLE BROWN NUT HAIR.

LITTLE BROWN NUT HAIR.

NUT HAIR.

My husband's sense of humor at its finest.

Does it make you laugh, shake your head in disgust, or consider him unfit for parenting?

To Hell with Holland

2011-08-06T09:02:00.004-04:00

There is this poem that is passed around in special needs circles faster than syphilis in season one of Grey's Anatomy. It's called Welcome to Holland and ~~I don't like it~~ I HATE IT.

You can read the poem in it's entirety RIGHT HERE. But, I will give you the abbreviated version. The author explains that parenting a special needs child is like planning a trip to Italy. Except en route to Italy you are told you are going to Holland instead, whether you like it or not. And you don't like it, because you were supposed to be somewhere else. You had prepared for Italy not the land of clogs. But, eventually, you find things to like about Holland and you warm up to the fact that you are somewhere other than you intended. You settle. You make due. Still, the pain of your shattered dream never goes away. You carry the loss of Italy with you always. In time you decide to focus on the Holland-y things and celebrate those while the rest of your friends and your best laid plans remain far away in that fancy boot-shaped country.

Bleghhhhhh!!! (Imagine me with a disgusted look on my face.) Depressing!

I am sure that the author, Emily Kinglsley, is a fantastic mother. However, our parenting perspectives, particularly those perspectives on parenting children with special needs, are very different. So, I decided to edit her poem to communicate my own view. (MY ADDITIONS ARE IN RED CAPS, LIKE THIS.)

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s NOTHING like planning a fabulous vacation trip to Italy. You CAN'T JUST buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. PARENTING IS NOT ABOUT YOU AT ALL. The Coliseum, the Sistine Chapel, Gondolas - THEY ARE ONLY PARTS OF THE ITALIAN JOURNEY, THE BEAUTIFUL PARTS. THERE IS ALSO INDIGESTION, POLITICAL UNREST AND THE HIGH COST OF LIVING BUT WHO WANTS TO THINK ABOUT THOSE THINGS? SO YOU PRETEND ONLY THE BEST THINGS IN ITALY EXIST. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian BUT THEY WILL DO YOU NO GOOD BECAUSE THERE ARE SEVERAL REGIONS OF THE COUNTRY WITH VARYING DIALECTS AND THE MOST IMPORTANT COMMUNICATIONS YOU WILL MAKE WILL BE IN ACTION, NOT WORD. It’s all very exciting WHEN YOUR MIND IS FOCUSED ON YOU. After several months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to ~~Holland!~~ ITALY!” BUT YOU ARE SO DETERMINED THAT ITALY WOULD LOOK EXACTLY THE WAY YOU IMAGINED IT THAT YOU DON'T BELIEVE HER. "THIS IS NOT ITALY!" YOU DECLARE. "I KNOW WHAT ITALY LOOKS LIKE. I HAVE THE GUIDE BOOKS AND THE TRAVEL CHANNEL. YOU ARE WRONG. WE MUST BE SOMEWHERE ELSE. WE MUST BE IN HOLLAND." ~~“Holland?” you say. “What do you mean, Holland?~~ "I signed up for Italy. I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” THE STEWARDESS REASSURES YOU, "YOU ARE IN ITALY." AND THEN SHE GIVES YOU THIS CHOICE: "YOU CAN CHOOSE TO GET OFF THE PLANE HERE IN ITALY AND RECOGNIZE THE COUNTRY FOR WHAT IT IS INSTEAD OF WHAT YOU HAVE FANTASIZED IT TO BE. YOU DON'T HAVE TO BUY NEW GUIDEBOOKS OR LEARN A NEW LANGUAGE. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO MAKE NEW FRIENDS, ALTHOUGH IT IS ALWAYS SOMETHING BENEFICIAL TO DO. YOU CAN STAY HERE AND ENJOY THE FAST-PACED FLASHINESS OF ITALY AS WELL AS THE SLOW-PACED, PEACEFUL QUAINTNESS THAT YOU HAVE OVERLOOKED. YOU CAN MAKE A HOME FOR YOURSELF AND YOUR FAMILY AMONG THE ITALIANS, IN THE COMPANY OF YOUR FRIENDS - OR YOU CAN STAY ON THIS PLANE AND I WILL TAKE YOU TO HOLLAND. But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It’s just a different place. So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. You begin to notice that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. And Holland even has Rembrandts. But BUT I MUST WARN YOU THAT everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And IF YOU CHOOSE HOLLAND, for the rest of your life you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s ~~what I had planned.”~~ WHERE MY PLANE LANDED, BUT IT LOOKED SO DIFFERENT FROM MY EXPECTATIONS THAT I GOT SCARED AND RAN AWAY TO HOLLAND."And the pain of that CHOICE ~~experience will never, ever, ever, go away.~~ WON'T ONLY AFFECT YOU, BUT ALSO YOUR CHILD AND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY. THE PAIN WON'T GO AWAY UNTIL YOU PACK YOUR BAGS AND HEAD BACK TO ITALY WHERE YOU BELONG. The loss of that ITALIAN dream is a ~~very significant~~ SELF INFLICTED loss. AND ~~But~~ IF YOU SPEND YOUR LIFE DENYING ~~mourning~~ THE FACT THAT YOU ORIGINALLY LANDED IN ITALY, you may never be free to GET BACK ON THAT PLANE AND SAY "TAKE ME BACK THERE - TO HELL WITH HOLLAND!" ~~enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.~~

****
So, that's my two cents on the special needs community's version of syphilis.

Parenting is beautiful and complicated, uplifting and humbling all in the same kid-sized package. I've never met a child who didn't belong in Italy. But, I've met many parents who have, upon confronting the fallacy of their own expectations, pittied themselves right into Holland.

Where is your final destination?

The Sentimentality of Toilet Paper

2011-08-04T22:25:00.003-04:00

I vaguely remember a time when the toilet paper looked like this:

The rest of my house followed suit. Neat, orderly, evidence of extreme care and profuse "TYPE-A" tendencies.

But now, the toilet paper looks like this:

The rest of my house follows suit. Messy, disorderly, evidence of extreme love and several tiny hands and feet relentlessly ignoring Mommy's "TYPE-A" tendencies.

That is, until the little ones are in bed. Then the house is restored to tidiness, my mind restored to peace. But the wrinkled, knotted, wound and rewound, crunched and scrunched toilet paper remains.

And it blesses my heart; a reminder of how these precious children have captivated my soul and rearranged my priorities.

What do your kids leave in their wake? Does it make your heart go pitter-patter or drive you nuts? Or both?

Words with Friends with Benefits

2011-08-03T07:10:00.002-04:00

NO, not those kind of benefits! Read on and I will explain.

What you must know is that I am a GIANT "word nerd." Always have been. I cannot get enough of games like Boggle, Scattegories, crossword puzzles and SCRABBLE. I love SCRABBLE in big ways. Along with the simple pleasure of exercising the mind and exploring the English language on those cute little wooden tiles, comes the bonus of points. Scorekeeping! NEWSFLASH: I am ~~slightly~~ COMPLETELY competitive. So imagine my delight when I discovered the "WORDS WITH FRIENDS" ap for my IPod.

Names have been blurred to protect the LOSERS - I mean - users.

Words with Friends (WwF) is modern day Scrabble WITH BENEFITS. If this list of advantages doesn't get you turning on that electronic device and downloading the game immediately then you've got problems (or you're not a shameless geek like me!)

YOU CAN PLAY ANYWHERE. No need to unfold that gargantuan Scrabble game board and fumble around with a ka-trillion tiny pieces (which present a choking hazard in the home of toddler-baby-mamas like me). Now, you need only whip out your phone and pretend you are doing something normal and cool... like texting. WwF can be played in the bathroom, in the waiting room, in the car, in the dark, in a box with a fox, and in the crowd at a Miley Cyrus concert (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!)

FREE TEXTING. WwF allows instant messages between competitors. Good for trash talking, serious talking, and plan making. Why pay for texts when you can play a word game with instant messaging instead?

GAMES WITH LONG DISTANCE PALS. I am currently playing a WwF game with a friend in Australia. How amazing is that? Old fashioned Scrabble can't make that happen.
SOUND EFFECTS. Everything is better with sound effects. And yes, I do get excited when I hear the "da-ding" of the WwF ap telling me that it is my turn to play.
NO DICTIONARIES NEEDED. The ap tells you if the string of letters you attempted to submit is NOT a word. No challenging and no leafing through the dictionary to prove yourself. The computer/phone does it all for you!
PLAY MANY GAMES AT ONCE. I currently have 14 games going. In the old days (Scrabble in a box) that would take 14 game boards and 1,400 letter tiles. AND LOTS OF SPACE. Now all I need is a nice cup of coffee and my IPod.
DRAKE WILL PLAY. He has played more WwF games with me in the last two months than he has EVER played Scrabble games with me in our many years of marriage. There is some truth to the post title Words with Friends with Benefits.
IT'S FREE ENTERTAINMENT - OK, you can pay $1.99 to buy WwF without the ads. But, I will ignore an ad screen after every game move to keep $2 in my pocket. I am indeed that ~~cheap~~ frugal. If you like FREE STUFF too - check out the Lucky Ducky page!

Any other Words with Friends lovers out there? Did I forget a benefit or two?

Leave a comment and you just might be invited to our WORDS WITH FRIENDS party. Lots of friends enjoying food, drinks and our beautiful backyard each with electronic device in hand playing the game tournament style and laughing at our collective NERDY-NESS. Who's in?

Mascara vs. Onions

2011-07-28T22:38:00.002-04:00

I have never been one of those black-teared, mascara-streaked criers. Really, I tend to pride myself on the fact that while so many seemingly bright and modern women have missed the memo, I know that WATERPROOF MASCARA exists and I even own some.

Not once in the 15 years since I began wearing makeup have my tears - AND TRUST ME THERE HAVE BEEN MANY - produced a mess on my face. You know, besides the usual snotty, splotchiness. After crying, I have never looked like I was in a bar fight or like I rubbed my cheeks in graphite dust and black paint chips.

Of course that all changed when I met my match on Tuesday night. Or should I say my mascara met its match?

...THE ONION.

After crying uncontrollably for 10 minutes, taking a picture of the aftermath and throwing my casserole into the oven, I immediately posted a status update on my personal Facebook page that went something like this:

"I think that if people saw what I looked like while cutting onions - they might de-friend me (both on Facebook and in real life.) Horror."

Just take a look for yourself. Ewwwwwwwwwwww. I can't be sure - but, I think that the onion actually wilted my hair too. Made it appear wet and barely combed. What a disgrace.

I won't judge if you choose to de-friend (or de-follow) the likes of this Mama Duck.

If you do choose to stick around, THANKS! Now, answer me this: How do you remain tear-free while chopping onions? Obviously, I need some advice.

Vaccination Induced Neurosis

2011-07-27T15:47:00.005-04:00

If ever there were doubts concerning my view on CHILDHOOD VACCINATIONS this post should clear them up.

On Tuesday, I piled the ducklings into the car and took them to the Pediatricians' office for DW's four-month check up and shots. Thankfully, our physician is also a friend, otherwise I might have been extremely embarrassed by the following events:

Though it was DW's appointment, I asked the nurse if the office had received the vaccinations that were previously out of stock at Daisy's recent visit. She informed me that the shots were now available and I promptly requested that Daisy get them - ALL THREE OF THEM - that day.

The nurse agreed and left the room to prepare shots for both DW and Daisy, but not before I informed Daisy of her fate, "Surprise! Three shots!" Tears, terror and other dramatics ensued. Still, by the time the nurse came back to the exam room with her ammunition, Daisy seemed moderately comfortable with the thought of being poked.

That is... until she saw the needles.

At first sight she began to scream "don't hurt me, don't hurt me! I want DW to go first!" She was shaking, her eyes glowing with horror and an obvious fight-or-flight reaction (mainly fight). I held her on my lap in the best mommy straight jacket I could produce, but it was not enough. Somewhere between the screams and the tears (both from Daisy and her little sister Swan - the sympathy crier) Daisy wiggled one arm free and used it to push the nurses needle-wielding hand backward milliseconds before the shot connected with her skin. I turned to witness the action just in time to see a few drips falling from the needle.

The nurse excused herself to request back-up. Two grown women were obviously no match for a panicked princess. While she was gone all I could think of was that dripping needle, precious vaccine wasted.

A second nurse came in to put more power behind the man-made straight jacket. All of my children were crying at this point. I was laughing hysterically, a typical parental reaction from me, and the nurses were putting on their best "don't worry about it, this happens every day" faces. It took three adults to accomplish the ten second task of vaccinating Miss Daisy. During those ten seconds I asked the nurse no less than 3 times if she was sure there was enough vaccine left in the dripping needle.

The nurse chuckled, kindly explaining that the drips I saw were not from the dose within the syringe, but from the excess found on the tip of the needle. She assured me that she had placed no pressure on the shot. My child was safe. Vaccine successful. I am sure though that what she wanted to say was "Look lady, even if I did put some pressure on that syringe I would never tell you. This is the 100th time you have asked me about the DARN vaccine while sobs, vomit and other unmentionables fly from the mouths of your offspring. Get your priorities straight and cuddle one of your 3 screaming children and next time warn us before your family returns - so that we can lock the doors or at least usher our innocent patients to the other end of this facility. You are clearing out our waiting room with your vaccine insanity."

Just imagine her internal dialogue when it was DW's turn. All 3 children in freak-out mode once again.

AND YES, I DID!

Once the poor, sweet nurse gave my son his oral vaccine I immediately interviewed her on the effectiveness of the dose in the event that he say, barfed (a semi-hourly occurrence) within minutes after ingestion.

PRO VACCINE TO THE MAXIMUM. CLEARLY, THAT'S ME.

What are your thoughts on vaccines? On my mental stability?

Christmas In July

2011-07-26T21:47:00.014-04:00

*Bloggers are notorious for mulling over their very first post. But, I look at it this way - the only people who will be viewing this introductory post are readers of my previous blog, family and friends. So, forget the stress! In true Mama Duck fashion I am going to shake my tail feathers at the pressure and pre-post jitters that come with starting a new blog and just dive right into real life.*

My best friend texted me yesterday morning, knowing how very much I LOVE the Christmas season, and wished me a "Happy Christmas in July."

In an uncharacteristic reply I sent a string of words that are best abbreviated, "Bah Humbug."

Yesterday was quite possibly the antithesis of the sacred holiday. Between the 3am wake up, the 8 poopy diapers, 2 screaming infants, and 2 rambunctious toddlers there was no "silent night" and certainly no "heavenly peace" to be found in Our Little Pond. No shower, no sunshine and cereal for dinner.

And to make matters worse, Joseph was beheaded by Swan.

Yes, it's true. I wish I could say this was the first nativity to lose a noggin in the Duck Pond, but a Haitian Jesus head rolled under the couch last December.

Like I said, BAH HUMBUG.

Merry Christmas in July blog readers! Here's to hoping no heads rolled in your homes yesterday. Wish I could say the same for ours.