Big Feelings

Just a quick one of all the girls.

sorry a bit blurry, I got nervous about taking pictures with the professional photographer :)

Today is a day of big feelings.

We got ourselves ready for the photo shoot, Abby wandered how come she wasn't picked.  She asked if she were pretty enough and brave enough.  I felt so sad for her, yet so happy for Nettie. 

We arrived early and were treated as royalty by handsome and beautiful young aspiring executives and art directors and photographers.  Lunch was provide as well as many tempting desserts. (non of which I had as I am on a diet, actually made it past Tuesday, ya for me!)

Right away the other girls welcomed Nettie with questions, hugs and giggles.  Nettie was in her element and it didn't take long to make new best friends.  In no time she was off like a flash, getting her hair done (I did it, they just put a couple of bobby pins in it) and make up done.  It was actually scary to see her with make up on, she was so beautiful.  It was really just a little foundation and  chap stick, but she enjoyed it.

They gave her a new Disney brand dress and she was thrilled to pieces.  They didn't even bother to look at the clothes I had brought.  I guess they saw how I was dressed and didn't think it was necessary to bother as I am having a 10 year fashion slump.  Regardless she glowed.

I met the person head of this campaign and she loved Nettie's story.  The photographer went to work and took several head shot pictures.  That was it.  I will put them online as soon as I can.  For now I took a few shots while we were waiting.

The whole day I thought about her birth parents in Ethiopia and wandered what they would think to see her.  It was quite the distraction, a pleasant moment mixed with sorrow, like every big moment we have.  Birthdays, mothers day, Christmas, you name it, I wander about them.

Something I haven't shared on this blog is that we have been searching for her birth parents.  Tonight we got word of them.  I can't say too much now as it wouldn't be fair for everyone but Nettie to know.  In fact I am not telling her anything until I can sort it out in my brain.  So many big feelings.  I cried and held her tighter tonight.  In fact today was her day that I dedicated to pray for her and it was her day to stay up late and snuggle with us.  Fitting today would be the day we learned a little bit more about her.  You would be surprised at how the simple things, like a name or what language she spoke can make a difference.  I really can't go on because it is so much and I have developed a head ache.

I will say as I reappeared out of my room, the kids could all see I had been crying.  Judah reached up on his tippy toes and touched my face and prayed for my jaw. (TMJ) It was so sweet and tender.  Then Mason called me to his room and prayed for me as well.  He told God that I had a gift to make others happy and that I made him happy and that even if he was having a bad day when he saw me his heart felt good again.

I guess I don't realize most the time the power I have has a mother.  Tonight I was able to comfort all of my kids, from spiders, hurt feelings, and the type of grief I hope I never really understand.  A soft touch a kiss a gentle look.  Nettie snuggled in my arms and plopped her feet up on Dad, and told me she doesn't ever want to loose me. I asked her on the way home what was the favorite part of her day.  I thought she would say getting her pictures and make up done.  Instead she said .... "Spending it with you."

The dress she got.  Just waiting for photographer

Okay this smile may be a bit big, but she was so  happy!

Getting her make up on

Photo Shoot

I must deviate from doing a farmy post today as it is a special occasion.  Netsanet is doing her photo shoot with award winning photographer Blair Bunting.  We are just putting on the finishing touches to her wardrobe and hair.  Of course she will have a stylist there and hair and make up, just in case!  You know when you are 7 it is so important to have your own stylist.

This is really a once in a lifetime chance and what is so cool in a weird way is that I have nothing to do with her biologically!   Meaning I don't have to pretend to be modest about my beautiful daughter!  I can sit back with the rest of the world and enjoy her moment without reservation.

Wish her luck.  It is going to be a long day with a baby in tow, but I always swing it.  Go Nettie!!!

The Skirt

I am trying out this new group called the Red Dress.  It is a creative writing group and each week you get a prompt.  This week is to describe a memory  of something ( a certain color, I can't say which one,)  without actually using the colors word.   See if you get it. :)



The blazing silk made it's way down my legs, it's fluid crimson trickling in the contrail of my gate.  The bias cut skirt dared to play a game of peek a boo with my black leather boots.  I picked up the pace, my parched skin longed for any shade to quench the toasted apples of my cheeks. Gravel crunched under the weight of my soul and shoe.  Beneath the tent ahead, loved ones convened, pointlessly fanning themselves as if to ward off the scorching afternoon sun.   I joined them and we stood as one being, fighting a loosing battle against the vampiric heat that drew the moisture from our skin before it ever had the chance to escape as droplets through our burning foreheads, necks and hairlines. 

Over a dozen long stem roses stood sublime and motionless in a vase adjacent to the shiny black casket.  The only movement was the intermittent breeze generated by the uncomfortable twisting and fanning of sweltering bodies gathered together to say good by.  I worried momentarily about the older folks coming to pay their last respects to my grandfather.  The sun was brutal, not affording us even one moment to grieve.  There was no grace given, not even the gossamer skin of the aged was spared.  Out of concern and respect I took my place standing off to the side of the tent to make way for the generation ahead of me.  Together we created a procession of time waiting for our turn,  younger, older, dead.  

There was no grass in this historic cemetery, and the trees were a native desert variety that offered little hope or comfort.  The pea gravel was bone colored and reflected itself in the sun, creating a glare that even the best RayBan's couldn't withstand.  Dusty hispanic relics embellished the mounds of their deceased residents.  Chihuahua statues, white crosses, the Virgin Mary and brightly colored silk flowers marked their lives in the festive Mexican tradition.  

In this cemetery each family was responsible for providing a memorial or head stone for their loved ones.  There were no rules, as evident to the eclectic tokens placed on top, next to and around the graves.  Our family had chosen a slab of veined, emerald marble that was once a mismeasured counter top for a hotel in Vegas.  It had been sitting in my garage for over ten  years, a yard sale find for 30 dollars.  I had hoped that one day it would be a coffee table in my living room, but in the end it was probably always meant to mark my grandfather's grave.  

Grandpa Jo was born in Mexico, his English was broken and covered in a thick, spicy, Hispanic glaze, even after years of living in Arizona.  He loved to eat cactus and dance the cumbia with pretty ladies.  He knew strange things like how to boil coyote bones to cure arthritis.  He ate and grew peppers and aloe plants and loved to garden.  He was daring and brash at times, especially if he had a few cervezas.  He would have loved my blood stained lipstick that screamed at my skirt's inappropriate, hue.  In life Grandpa didn't shy away from color or style.  I smiled to myself as I recalled the little dash of silky Tabasco he himself often sported, tucked in the front pocket of his suit jacket.  He would have thought I looked festive in such a deep, saucy, shade of amour and I can only imagine that he would have approved of my attire, proud that I stood out, a brazen statement against the stoic black suits and dresses. 

As the funeral began I was handed a rose, held at my side it's color fused with the soft, silk creases of my skirt.  I wanted to dance like we  used to when I was a child.  I wanted him to snatch the rose from my hand and clench it between his teeth like he did in life when he tried to be macho and daring in a humorous way.  If he could see me he would have laughed that crusty, barrel laugh beneath his gray handle bar mustache and called me mija!  We would have danced and my waiting, lifeless skirt would have caught fire, twirling with Grandpa Jo.


I realize after reading this, it is slightly flat and devoid of real emotion.  To be honest I think that is how I felt that day.  I wasn't as close to my grandfather as I wanted to be for different reasons.  I remember him fondly and I miss him, but there was a distance there.  I think I can see this in how I portrayed his funeral.

Monday tidbit- big muffins

Today a neighbor stopped by.  She doesn't have kids and is a self proclaimed "mother hen" type.  In her hands were 6 really big muffins!  What a treat.  I actually was craving a muffin.

I gobbled one down, because today is Saturday and I always start my diet on Monday, leaving  Tuesday through Sunday to gorge.  Which translates to, I really only diet on Monday.  (good intentions though, I may make it through Tuesday one day.) 

Anyway, there are seven in my family but considering Serenity doesn't eat muffins that leaves one for each of us.  Nettie was the first to ask for one.  They really were gigantic and my first inclination was to say no.  but then I felt God say, let them have it, all of it is free just like me. 

Here's the rest of it.

God has given Jesus as our free gift.  We don't have to be stingy about him, we don't have to worry if he is going to waste.  There is a huge portion for each one of us, more than we can use or have but that doesn't stop him from giving us exceedingly above and beyond, therefore we can give exceedingly above and beyond.    Take, Take and Take again He the son of God is a free gift.  Give, Give and Give again there is more than enough to go around.  He doesn't alot little tiny portions.  So sitting and watching Nettie with this great big muffin I didn't worry if she would waste it.  In fact she treasured it.   She nibbled as much as she could off the top and then carried it around trying to find someplace safe to keep it for later.  There is more than enough to go around.

By Golly She Did IT!

Well my daughter Nettie was chosen out of over 1,000 girls to be featured in the Girl Scouts Advertising Campaign.  

Let me just quickly share something with you about the casting call day.

When we arrived at the add company I was immediately taken back by all the cute little girls running around in the open air court yard. 

Out going, laughing, ball bouncing, sweet girl scouts. 

You could feel the weight of stares coming from the other moms.  Sizing up my daughter, checking out the competition.  I could see that my sensitive Nettie felt that pressure and immediately became shy.  Unfortunately she started to gaze outward and began comparing what she was wearing to everyone else.  Her insecurity slipped like a bike chain out of gear.  It took me a while to get her back to the Nettie we know and love.  By the time her turn came up she was ready to go~

The creative arts team called her outside to interview her while I stood on the sideline waiting.  Picture this little four foot creature, bold and standing alone, going after what she wanted with everything in her reaching out to the panel of five adults.  (Who by the way fit that very posh ad agency look and stereo type) Personally I had butterfly's. 

They asked her what her favorite cookie was, and how old she was and what she wanted to do when she grew up.  She told them she wanted to be a model.  I laughed and rolled my eyes because last week she wanted to be a police officer and last month she wanted to be a princess.  They told her in return she wouldn't have any problem doing that.  Which I took as a good sign.

Now here's the kicker, get a tissue.

After the questions they told her to stand up in front of the photographer and hold her card with her name and number. 

I suddenly had to choke back tears as I had an instant flash back.  The last time she held a name card in front of her for a picture, she was an orphaned girl in Africa.  The first picture of her I ever saw was a little girl in borrowed rags, holding a board that had her name scratched on it to identify her among hundreds of other abandoned and orphaned kids hoping for a home, a mom a dad a family.  In these pictures she has just lost her family days prior.  The wound so new.

This was our first picture of our daughter, she was 4.5 years old.

Now, look at her.  Proud,  healthy, bold, pursuing her dreams, given a chance.  I wanted to tell the photographer how far she had come, how she deserved to have a shot at this and how beautiful and sweet and cute she was. (and)   I had to be silent and let her speak for herself.  That was so hard.  I had to trust they could see all of what I prayed for in a daughter.  A shiny , happy, light up the room kind of gal.  I prayed they would see Jesus in her.  They did.  And by golly she did it!!! 

Now she will be representing an organization we love and more importantly her country and girls like her.

this is the look book for the shoot, the picture before this she was holding a sign with her name.

Thursday Farm Tid bit

I have a confession to make.  I have never grown anything worth eating.  Well once last summer we grew a strawberry.  Yes just one small strawberry and we split it between 6 excited people.  (it wasn't even good)  After that, well our garden died.  Yes we lost her even after hours of researching how to pollinate zucchinis and my husband q tipping the stamos of a male plant and adding it to a female, all while making bee noises. (which by the way I was mildly uncomfortable with, not the bee noises, the sexual nature of the pollination. blush)    A few years before that we spent a fair amount of money of tomato plants and peppers.  I let them die.  I don't think I was ready back then to care for the tomato plants.  I don't know,  it seemed at the time too much to handle.   (see this is the attitude that scares me about myself.) 

Anyway getting into this gardening thing is a bit more complicated than I thought.  For instance, after we planted our four grape vines we read that you should build a trellis  first.  ooops.  Then that led us to Youtube videos of pruning grapes and training them to go where you want.  Seriously??!, I can barely do that with my kids, now I have to train grape vines?  Ya right, the grape vines are probably going to talk back and be rebellious and leave toilet paper all over my bathroom floor. 

The whole thing left me scared and a bit insecure.  Not to mention, our fruit trees.  The bugs involved with eating certain leaves, making sure the graft doesn't take over, watering them, and making sure they are planted near the right trees that help with pollination.  I don't have a clue.  Notice how I added watering them as a complicated thing?  See that scares me.

So when approaching the planning of the garden I am a trembling mess.   There are rows going certain directions and spaced with very technical numbers, ( really just inches and such, but it seems so intimidating) and different seasons and the latest thing I just learned, companion planting.  That is when you plant complimentary plants next to each other to maximize soil and limit insects.  It is all very technical.  That ain't my thing jelly bean.  So here is something I found that helps.


Mother Earth News Garden Planner

The first 30 days are free so you can get on it and go crazy, then you have to pay.  But still I think it is worth it  as it is a no brainer really on how to get  your garden planned.  It even tells you the companion plants as you are clicking and dragging those adorable tomato icons.  It tells you the space you need, how big the rows are and how much you can plant.   It is like the garden training wheels. 



At least now I can mess up online rather than spending hundreds and getting it all wrong.  So far I am on my third online garden.  I am getting better as I go thanks to this garden planner and of course Mother Earth News.

Wednesday People Watcher

She was the kind of mom I think my daughter wish had adopted her.  I couldn't help but feel a slight pang in my side watching this reality pass before me in strappy, gliding, high heels.  This woman didn't walk, she moved effortlessly across the parking lot.   Me on the other hand,  I was lucky if I had a chance to put on socks each day to hide the fact that when I didn't my big toe poked out of the holes in my worn down, sensible tennis shoes.

She seemed light as a feather, although she wasn't necessarily thin,  rather she was  proportioned.  Over her shoulder was slung an over sized , yellowish-gold bag that matched the neutral hues of brown in her business pant suit.   Her dark bronze skin seemed as though it had soaked up the winter sun and locked it up causing her to glow from the inside out.  She wore her shiny, ebony hair straight and shoulder length, all together flawless.


A  ten year oldish boy lagged slightly behind her, concentrating more on his to go order and drink.   I imagined she had just gotten off work, probably some high power job, maybe in a law office.  Certainly she wasn't a social worker or some other kind of job that required a softer person.   She was sharp and focused, unmoved by the world around her, keys in hand she pushed the alarm off button to her car without even fumbling or looking down. 

I found myself instantly turning to my little brown daughter next to me in the passenger seat of our car.  Some very small insecure button had been pushed deep within me, catching a glimpse of this beautiful  African American women.  I knew that if  my daughter saw her she would stare, maybe even point, as she had been known to do when she saw another person her shade of mocha.  She would most likely make some comment like "Mom how come you don't dress like that?"  or "Look she is brown and her kid is brown too, I wish I had a brown mom".   I would smile and find the appropriate things to say in these moments, pulling the good ol' standbys out of my box of tricks.  Mostly I just told her that our family was special and that I was happy we didn't "look" like everyone else.   

I tried not to let these moments burrow into my soul, but they did.  I could never be "black" I would never need to dress so elegantly and I could never walk that way and accessorise myself to perfection like her.  I wouldn't even want to.  I have other things that are important to me like dreams of my farm and how to plant my garden.  As much as I tried to convince myself that it was okay that I had broken nails and holes in my shoes,  that I wasn't less of a person for not wearing make up to blend in my freckles,  I still felt a wash of sadness, in that I could never be that for my daughter.  As I glanced over to my 7 year old girl, hoping she hadn't seen this  particular mom pass in front of us, she would most likely would wish was me,  I realized she wasn't paying attention at all to the world around her.  She was too busy looking in the car visor mirror at herself, fluffing her hair and applying lip gloss, and watching herself make pretty faces back at her own reflection.  A quick rush of relief filled me and the world felt right again.  I was who I was and she is who she is.

 For now.

Monday Tid-bits- typos

Have you ever noticed that as you are typing (that is if you know how to type the formal or proper way)  Usually your two index fingers are placed on J and F and each finger is assigned several letters.  With much practice this becomes second nature.  But have you ever in your haste or confusion misplaced your fingers by just one letter?

So something like this.....



For God so loved the world that he gave his only son....

Would look like this

Gpt Hpf dp ;pbrf yjr ept;f yjsy jr hsbr jod pm;u dpm/  ////

It doesn't take much to get it all wrong, just one misplaced finger.  That is how it is in life.  Measuring ourselves, self correcting ourselves should be measured to the standard of the word where is solid truth.  It (whatever it may be) could feel right and even seem right, until you look down and realize you have been wrong all along.  Truth is not subject it is solid and real.

God is our spell checker and when we look down and see everything in read misspelled just left click Jesus and he will make it right with his word.

Spider Chronicles

We were forced to clean the kids rooms as we found this in Abby's hair.

It is a cousin of the brown recluse, otherwise known as the Arizona Brown Spider.  It likes to hide in warm spots and soft covers and lives in undisturbed places, (ie the kids floors and closets, apparently Abby's  unkempt hair.)

The truth is she had a fever and bundled up in her very warm and soft blanket, where upon the spider, who hitched a ride in her blanket, went right to the warmest place it could find.  Her head.  So when I told her she had to take a tepid bath I found it crawling in her hair.  I quickly swiped it out, careful not to let her know, and killed it, and then identified it.  Much to my horror it was indeed the recluse.  Thankfully a non aggressive type.  It's bit doesn't hurt initially but is flesh eating just 6 hours later.  Nice. 

I am sure the thing didn't bite her, but it prompted us to tackle their disgusting rooms.  Then eat icecream.  Snickers, because I will start and blow my diet tomorrow, so I better have another.


Here are some facts on the bugger


Brown recluse spiders usually live in dense clusters. Usually where one is found, there will be more. (This does not set my mind at ease)

Like undisturbed places for their webs; hunt primarily at night and will take refuge in clothing and bedding; often found in unused closets and storerooms, behind furniture, and in baseboard cracks and crevices.

Definitely need more icecream. Did I mention it was Breyers Snickers?

Happy Birthday Mason

Mason you are my oldest son and a treasured addition to our family. This time 9 years ago I wander what kind of mom I would be and what kind of kid you would be. Even bigger yet I wandered what the world would be like for you as you were the size of a pea when the terrorist changed the history and how we felt forever in the country on September 11. I rocked back and forth in my old wooden rocker, clutching my growing belly and prayed and hoped for you to be strong in hard times. Time has been good to us giving us these 9 years together to learn about each other. I have learned you are the kind of kid that makes me laugh.

You are zany and wonderful and moody all rolled into one very handsome boy body. You are sweet and sour all at once. You are more like me that I want to admit. You are poetic, artistic and sensitive. You want to kill gophers but can't handle the fact that people use chinchillas as fur. You are full of surprises and energy and that keeps me on my toes. When I imagined life with a son I had my own ideas about how you and I would be.

Now I realize, as you are my first child that you are who you are and I am me. Dad and I are always practicing on you and I apologize for that. I will always be a new parent to you as I grow. You have shaped me and have given me confidence and joy unimaginable. My life would be hues of black and white without you. For my ever loyal son, happy birthday!!! Many Many more I pray.

Love

Mom