But a Breath

hosting momo

2012-02-16T15:58:00.000-08:00

Rather than ranting on my blog during the spare 25 minutes each day that my CRAZY schedule allows me, I have been hosting my mother-in-law. Happily, I might add. She is wonderful.

Yesterday we went to our neighborhood market to buy fixins for dinner. Scalloped potatoes with ham and roasted carrots was on the menu. The kids were worn out from morning recess and hungry for lunch, so we let them hitch rides. All four of them. Good thing Momo had her camera!

I chose the largest, plumpest strawberries for our lunch.

My three youngest kids LOVE steamed buns, which are readily available in and around the market building. I bought five of them to hold them over.

As usual, we had spectators. These friendly ladies we both confused and excited by my little crew.

Dinner came together, with Nutella for dessert. Good times hosting Momo!

Hearts

2012-02-13T00:44:00.000-08:00

Hearts have been a big part of our lives these past two years.

Magnetic hearts.

Hearts to bring a "smiyll."

Big hearts.

Grandpa.

Grammy.

Good hearts.

Uncle Jack.

Uncle Kody.

***
An incomplete heart.
A fighting heart.
A stilled heart.

Broken hearts.

Warrior hearts.

Kerry and Glory.

***

Hearts of young love.

Kayleigh and Bright.

Even hearts to eat.

"Love" has been redefined for us in the past two years. It isn't about shared surnames, or shared gene pools, or even shared countries of origin. A family isn't a group of people who've chosen each other. In fact, most of us would have liked to have chosen some other group of people, from time to time. But that is the beauty of love. We may not have chosen each other, but we have chosen to love each other, forever, no matter what.

Mine is a heart of gratefulness this Valentine's Day.

The view from here

2012-02-11T18:10:00.000-08:00

Momo has arrived!

Jubilee met her for the first time, just one day before we all headed west in our green van for a week-long thing we had to do in one of the cutest little towns in Asia.

The trip went well except for a stomach virus that ravaged many of us, including our little Jubilee. She puked her way home through the mountains today, poor little girl, requiring us to stop 4-5 times to mop her off. It was our first time cleaning her vomit, and it was sentimental, in a gross sort of way. Daniel's exact words were, "A kid's not really yours until you've had your hands in her throw up." There is truth in that.

Jubilee and Momo are doing well with their bonding. Jubi has confused Momo with her personal assistant, however, (not surprising) and tells her what and when and where. We all think our little girl is coming out of her "shell" more and more every day, especially with all the grandparent-love she has been getting in the past month. She knows all her colors now, and a few shapes, and how to boss her big brothers, though I think she would call it loving concern. Things like, "Don't fall down, Bright," and "Use two hands, Brave" frequently come out of her mouth. Mommy DEFINITELY has a little helper.

We are glad to be home now, after all of our mid-winter travels. The kids are ready for some routine, and some school work. Daniel is ready for the spring semester, and some home cooking.

I am ready to collect my thoughts.

A lot has taken place around here since August, and it looks like a lot will be taking place in the near future (more on that later, though I will say it has NOTHING to do with acquiring more children).

For now, we will have our dear Momo sleeping on our couch for two more weeks, my grandmother's tuna-cheese-biscuit casserole for dinner tomorrow, and a little sleep tonight.

And a fresh dose of His mercies in the morning.

because I needed a pep talk

2012-02-05T05:08:00.000-08:00

One afternoon on our vacation my mom said to me, "What's the matter, honey?"

To which I replied, "I have too many kids."

I don't really (have too many kids) but I am in the mucky, yucky thick of the toughest job on earth, and my face does not exude "life is a bowl full of cherries" most of the time.

It's hard to admit to that, with all the magazines and literature on parenthood displaying mothers with white teeth and tight sweaters handing five smiling children organic muffins with one hand while playfully tousling the hair of a hunky husband with the other.

And yet, if anybody (in real life) has a life that is anywhere close to truly wonderful its me, and I know it. I have a husband who will never leave me, and who I could not think more highly of. I have four great, healthy kids who say "please" and "thank you," and who have a genuine affection for one another. I have my health and I have a safe, comfy home, and I have a G0D who lived and died for me so that in my inmost being I have peace.

And I have a 6-year-old who hollers my mantra at me from the other room, whenever I need to hear it most (and want to hear it least), "Keep calm and carry on, Mom. Keep calm and carry on."

And I have a 2-year-old who hollered at me from his time-out the other day, while I was weeping on the floor in the dining room from the sheer exhaustion of my life, "Je-shush will come back, Mommy. Je-shush will come back."

You can do it, Kayla. Just keep going. You can do it.

always something

2012-02-02T23:49:00.000-08:00

This is what I found in Bright's mouth yesterday. That baby tooth out front? Not even loose.

Of course, our first experience with permanent teeth had to be this. And of course it had to happen two days after returning from Thailand, where such a thing would have been no problem. Here, however, dentists are known to fumble with money while wearing their rubber gloves, and then stick those gloves back in their patients' mouths. That, or skip gloves altogether. Gas? Not likely. Anesthetic? If you're lucky. Clean tools? They look shiny enough.

Ugh.

We called Uncle Philip (a.k.a. Philip S. Morton, DDS) who said we could wait until we come to Arkansas this summer, but the sooner that baby tooth gets yanked, the better. He suggested at least going in for a consultation. OK. That sounded safe enough to us.

So this morning, after a quick breakfast, we loaded the family into the mian bao che and headed to the north side of town. We passed a leather shop, and a noodle shop selling steamed buns, parking just in front of a dark shop with two dental chairs tucked into the second room. A very friendly dentist greeted us, and even spoke a few words of English! (such as, "no pain" and "no problem.") Before we knew it, Bright had a paper towel pinned beneath his chin and a needle headed for his gums.

The kid was a champ, though, I've got to say. I had promised that if he took it like a man, he would find a very nice sum of money under his pillow tomorrow. After the local had been administered, with only a brief, "Ow" from him, Bright looked at me and asked, "Was that worth 10 kuai?"

"At least," I said, smiling. "Maybe 20."

In the end, the tooth was horsed out of his mouth, and we paid the dentist a whopping 50 kuai (about $8.50) and went on our merry way. Bright spent the rest of the day eating coconut cream pie and walking taller than usual. And there you have it, our first baby tooth is out.

What's the next big thing? Our first broken bone? I hope not. Maybe we'll skate through the rest of childhood incident-free (yeah, right). Maybe I'll have nothing more to report until Bright sprouts his first armpit hair.

Let's hope that doesn't involve anesthetic.

Driving to Thailand

2012-02-01T01:39:00.000-08:00

(a rare blog from Daniel...)

Yesterday, we got back from two weeks of vacation in Thailand. We've gone down to Chiang Mai a couple of times for medical care or to take care of passport stuff at the US Consulate, but this time we got to meet Kayla's parents and have a lot of fun. A big part of the fun for me was that this was the first time for us to do this with our van. Kayla and the toddlers flew down, while Bright, Zion, my good buddy John Greene, and I drove. What started as an idea to save on airfare - which for a family of six has become increasingly unaffordable - became the adventure of a lifetime.

In the months leading up to our journey John and I looked all over the internet for suggestions about how to go about doing this and found almost nothing. Cris, another guy in our city, had just done this a few months ago and was able to point us in the right direction. I thought I'd post some of the details here for your enjoyment. While most of Kayla's readers don't live in our area, some of you do and might like to give this a shot. These details might be helpful to you. The rest of you can at least enjoy the photos...

We set out about 7pm and drove straight down to the Laos border. It took 10ish hours to get down, including about a 45 minute hunt for a gas station in PuEr. The roads were surprisingly good and to my surprise the boys slept like babies until about 5am when we showed up at the border. At that point, they were ready to roll and John and I were ready to crash. We kind of slept while they crawled all over the van until the border opened up at 8:30am. It closes at 5:00 so time your passing well.

Looking into the Lao border from the North

For yourself and your family, you'll need to get exit stamps in your passports first. Then for your car all you really need is your license and the blue registration booklet that has the photo of your car in it. For those of you who live here, you know that I actually brought every piece of paperwork I could get my hands on because who knows what random stamped slip of something they're gonna want to see. In the same building where you get your passport stamped, they'll give you an exit card for your vehicle. It has a place for an exit stamp and a reentry stamp.

Keep up with it, they told me I couldn't get back in if I lost it. Anyone who is with you, then needs to walk through the border. Then you drive through the big gate and they'll stamp your card after making sure you're not hauling a bunch of drugs or something.

Waiting for paperwork... It took us 2 hours to cross the border into Laos, and 4 to cross into Thailand.

In Laos, as Americans you can get a visa on arrival, for 300RMB per person. Right next to the visa shack is the car insurance shack. I bought one month's worth for about 40USD. While their currency is the Lao Kip, they take Kuai and USD. Once you've got the insurance get in your car and drive into Laos. Like last time, anyone who is with you must walk in and meet you on the other side.

Then it's a short drive to the Lao Customs office. It straddles the road so you can't miss it. It cost me 80,000 Lao Kips to bring my van into the country - a whopping 10USD. After that, you're in.

Here's one problem. Reliable maps of Laos are hard to find. Even the Lao government doesn't make one. They're probably too busy doing something... else. I hunted around and found a guy who lives in Thailand and had GPS'd his own. He sells it for about 12USD and it was really helpful. To my knowledge, even the Lao government recommends his map.

From the border go south on Road 13, take a right after about 15 minutes toward Luang Namtha. There's no sign at that intersection, but it's the first paved road on the right. Within about a 100 yards you should see a concrete pylon on the side of the road (very low to the road, and possibly covered with brush) that will tell you how far Luang Namtha is. It took us an hour to get there, and then three more to the Thai border.

If you want to crash in Laos, John and I recommend The Boat Landing. I couldn't believe this place was just tucked in the middle of nowhere Laos.

Our cabin was about 50USD for one night and included breakfast - really expensive for Laos but it was worth it.

Riverfront view

The place was really comfortable and romantic, I'd love to take Kayla there. A British guy at the Lao side of the Thai border did ask John and I if we were a couple. He was an odd man. The roads in Laos are very windy, but well paved almost the entire time.

At the Lao side of the Thai border is Huai Xai. It's a great little place that caters to people coming up from Thailand to get their visas extended. Lots of little guest houses there so you could crash here as well. Give yourself 4 hours to get your exit stamp, go through customs, and ferry your car over the Mae Kong river.

For the exit stamp, look for the Immigration office right on the river to the Southeast side of the main drag through Huai Xai. You need to go down there first and get your exit stamp before legally leaving the country - that costs 10,000Kips or $1.25 per person. It's located where most people come over on the small boats that bring people just coming over without a vehicle. It's possible to ferry your car over without the stamp, then you'll have to come back over and waste a ton of time...

The next thing you need to do is drive on down the road through the town to the actual ferry crossing. Really a cool experience. It's 100Bhat for Thai Customs and 1500Bhat to ferry your car. They're going to want to see the paperwork you used to enter Laos and the Lao customs papers you got when you first arrived.

To balance the ferry the guys direct the trucks to drive on at a certain times, backing up and pulling forward as other vehicles get on. Really neat to watch.

I love how the guys take decorating their trucks seriously down here. It says, "I deliver anything anywhere and look good doing it."

The ride was really relaxing and a nice break from the drive.

On the way down they washed my car for an extra 100Bhat.

Once into Thailand drive off the ferry, pay 25Bhat to the ferry house (for who knows what...), go up the road, take a right and Immigration is on your right. You'll see a sign. That's also where your car will go through customs and you'll buy car insurance.

Tip: Don't buy car insurance from the recommended lady who has a lot of flowers around her little booth. The flowers are nice, but it took 45 minutes.

The lady at the top of the hill on the right, who has the closest copy machine, also sells insurance and is quite quick about it. It cost 600Bhat for two weeks of coverage - about 19USD. I don't think the Lao or Thai car insurance actually covers anything if you get in a wreck, but if you get stopped at a check point (which I did) they're going to want to see that you have it.

Once in Thailand, get yourself a good 3G sim card for mapping. You'll go down through Chiang Rai and onto Chiang Mai. Otherwise, good maps of Thailand are easy to find and the road signs there are very helpful. For the first part of the trip down you ride right next to the Mae Kong and it is beautiful.

The Mae Kong river, Thailand on the left, Laos on the right.

On the way back, John and I decided to stop for a swim.

Climbing down to the river proved to be a little challenge - check out the van in the top corner for scale.

The water was cold, but felt really good.

It takes about four hours to get down to Chiang Mai from the border. Northern Thailand and Laos are really a treat to drive through.

On the way back I really wanted to try and drive through Myanmar. The internet collectively said it was impossible and most Thai drivers I asked about it just laughed at me. We gave it a very strong try but it was in fact impossible. We could have driven in, but then we would have had to exit through the same point. No passing through, or leaving the boarder town for that matter. If they ever open it up, it would mean not having to ferry the Mae Kong and I think it would save a ton of time.

After spending a total of about an hour there, I feel like I should offer a few important things to note about Myanmar.

If you must stay there, there is apparently a VERY nice hotel:

If this tuk tuk driver mentions "Boom Boom" he is not talking about fireworks. If you nod "Yes" in an affirming manner he will take you to a small green house filled with prostitutes. The Boom Boom House.

Also, GREAT NEWS - in Myanmar, somehow before Apple has even invented it themselves, the kind folks at the local night market will sell you the NEW iPhone 5 for about 100USD. Amazing deal.

All in all, it took 29 hours including boarder crossings. And, for a family of six cost around $1100. That's almost a third of what we would have paid in airfare and we had a car to drive around while we were down there. If I do it again, I would look into getting Thai and Lao visas before we go down, instead of getting them at the borders. It would cost a little more but I think would cut down on time, especially if you could get a multiple entry Lao visa. Also, I would break it up over two days. One down to Luang Namtha, and then the next on down to Chiang Mai - the straight shot was pretty tough. Good luck if you do it, we had the time of our lives.

a good mom

2012-01-31T00:52:00.000-08:00

We were standing in the Chiang Mai airport, at a crossroads. The kids and I were being ushered through one gate, headed home, while Grandpa and "Grammy," as Jubilee took to calling her, were going to need to find their own gate, headed to Bangkok, then Tokyo, then Washington, then Chicago, then home.

This goodbye was easier than goodbyes prior, at least on my part. I knew that I would see my mom and dad again in early summertime, LORD willing, so I was prepared to give each of their shoulders a quick squeeze and be on my way. Clearing security with four small children is no menial task, after all, and I was eager to get it over with.

But then my mom said to me, mid-squeeze, "You are such a good mom," and I found myself not wanting to let go of her velour jumpsuit. Next came, you guessed it, the tears, because of all the things a girl wants in life, hearing her mother say she is doing alright tops the list.

The thing is, I don't feel like a very good mom, especially in the last five months since Jubilee came home. Just this morning, and I'll go ahead and blame it on the six hours, post-travel, that we all slept last night, I barked at her when she pulled the bookmark out of Bright's chapter book.

That's the sort of the thing that happens around here. Jubilee's great English and easy-going personality make me forget that she is still new to us, and new to our way of living, our culture. The other kids have known what a bookmark is since they were babies, and they learned early on not to remove one from a book. Jubilee, on the other hand, saw two googly eyes looking at her from the nightstand, and she thought someone had left her a prize.

"Jubilee, NO!!" I growled wearily, and her face fell. I had done it again.

Failed.

What, then, was my mom referring to while we hugged at the airport? What made her say that I was good at this? I think I know. It is the same thing that makes me remember her as a good mom, in spite of the times she undoubtedly growled at me.

It is the same reason Jubilee reached for me with her little arms this morning, which are deep brown from our trip to the tropics. While I hung my head with regret, too ashamed to even look at her, she planted her lips against my cheek in a gentle kiss.

Because of all the things a person wants in life, to be loved tops the list.

I was loved, I had a good mom. My kids are loved, they have a good mom. Mother's who love their kids should know, "You are such a good mom."

Sereana's story

2012-01-28T00:33:00.000-08:00

At some point within the last five years, this little girl was conceived. In a test tube. Using her biological father's sperm and an egg-donor's egg.

She and three other embryos were extras, and were frozen in case the parents who ordered their conception ever needed them. They did not. The embryos remained frozen, and would have eventually been disposed of, if this couple hadn't adopted them.

They named her Sereana, a family name. She is ethnically Jewish and Italian. Her adoptive father hails from Fiji, and her adoptive mother is from Wisconsin. The pair, who do what we do (only in Nepal), tried for seven years to have children. Their fertility doctor suggested in vitro, giving them a fair chance of success with their own...ingredients.

"However," he told them, "with your great uterus, you would have a fabulous chance with an adopted embryo."

A what?

Heather and her husband had never heard of such a thing, and neither had I until we met them in Thailand last week. The two of them decided not to make more embryos, when thousands of babies who had already been created sat frozen. It was a perfect fit for them, and they went for it.

Rather than choosing to go through an adoption agency, a process which would have required a home study and would have come with a price tag of around $20,000, they heard through the grapevine of a doctor in L.A. who handles this kind of thing out of his office. He took Heather on as a patient, and matched her up with another patient who had extra embryos and was willing to sign over the rights to them. The whole process, including medical and legal fees, cost them just over $4,000.

Heather, who was thrilled with the match, thinking Sereana's ethnicity to blend nicely into her mixed-race marriage, was implanted with two of the four embryos. She and her husband were prepared for twins, but only Sereana began to grow. Heather received hormone injections every day for 10 weeks, after which time she and the baby and their amazing pregnancy were on their own. Last week, Sereana was born, in a Thai hospital, a perfectly healthy little miracle.

When Heather and her husband are ready, they will undergo the process again with the other two embryos, with the hope of giving their daughter one or two biological siblings.

Unbelievable.

I wanted to post Sereana's story because I didn't know about embryo adoption, and I thought maybe you didn't either. To adopt or donate embryos through an adoption agency, Heather recommends:

http://www.nightlight.org/adoption-services/snowflakes-embryo/default.aspx

For the inside scoop on the inexpensive route that Heather took, let me know and I'll give you Heather's email address. Your local doctor could do all the preliminary work, but then you would need to travel to Los Angeles for the actual procedure. Heather said she would be more than happy to answer any questions, or help in any way she can.

nothing but love

2012-01-23T00:56:00.000-08:00

Thailand.

That's where I've been, not that anyone has been worried. The only person who worries when I haven't blogged is my mother, and she happens to be with me. WITH ME! She and my dad came through the door a week ago, red-eyed and pale from their 32-hour journey across the world, and I literally ran to them and wrapped my mom up in my arms and cried.

A year and a half is too long.

We decided to meet-up in Thailand this time, since they've already been to our city, and after you've fumbled with chopsticks and floor toilets and painful digestion once, you've earned the Thai tropics, right? Especially when you're 63 years old, and as awesome as my folks are.

Not only that, but Zion needed his big-boy passport (the one kids get when they turn five), and we all needed another round of Japanese Encephalitis vaccine, and I was out of shortening. Thailand was in order for all of us.

So rather than blogging, I've been tossing the football in the sun with my dad. I've been eating curry and drinking diet coke. I've been petting elephants and feeding sting rays. Elephants smell oily, like dreadlocks, by the way, and rays are perhaps the softest thing I've ever touched.

I got to watch my parents meet my daughter for the first time. My dad was in love from the get-go, chasing her around for hugs and kisses, to which she was averted at first and now loves. My mom hung back for a while, letting Jubilee get used to her, like letting a horse sniff her knuckles. They're pals now, though, and they kind of remind me of one another. Both are beautiful, sweet, and kind, and both are tougher than most people know.

Other than one CT scan of Zion's head after a nasty fall, and one blue fingernail on my dad's hand from my mom slamming the door on it (accidentally, I can assure you), and one day that my mom felt dizzy and had to rest in her bed to the sounds of the whistling birds and rustling palms, we have had a marvelous time together. Zion and Grandpa are on a "Grandpa Date" right now, in fact, while the toddlers nap in their prospective perches on borrowed sheets in the breeze. I think Zion wanted shrimp and Sprite, so it is my understanding that the pair were headed to the The Duke's for an afternoon snack. Grandpa slipped Zion a 20 baht bill, so Zion could "get the tab," and Zion slipped the bill in his new leather wallet, slipping that into the pocket of his blue cotton shorts. Thailand is a great place to buy leather cheaply, and Zion is into his new wallet. In fact yesterday he told Daniel, "I think I'm into wallets now more than sea creatures."

Zion said to me, today, that he thinks he is in love for the first time. With a girl named Risa, who he met after breakfast this morning, and who's family are workers like us, 30 miles from South Korea. I saw them talking by the wooden swing, Zion and Risa, and Risa, who is five, was petting Zion's head like a puppy. A little TLC goes a long way with Zion, apparently, for he declared, with flushed cheeks, just before lunch, "I think I'm going to marry that girl."

Nothing but love going on here in Thailand.

a pot on fire and a very good man

2012-01-12T23:18:00.000-08:00

20 minutes after I started the oil to make popcorn, I suddenly remembered it. Dashing into the kitchen, I lifted the lid to the pot, relieved to see the oil still pooled at the bottom, black and thick now, but not on fire. In the next second, however, while I stood peering into the pot (like an idiot), the oil ignited into angry flames. I jumped back with a yelp before my face caught fire.

"Daniel, help!"

Into the kitchen ran a naked and dripping husband (mine, of course), who had jumped from his bath when he heard me holler. He grabbed a hot mit and put it on his left hand, and grabbed a fistfull of all purpose flour with the other. Foomp, foomp went the flour into the pot, and out went the flames.

The kitchen filled with smoke. Through the haze, I could see my husband, my grease-fire hero, covered with flour and wearing nothing but a hot mit. It was hard to keep from choking, between my laughter and the smoke.

I remember a day at the bed and breakfast, when we were all smiles because there were no check-ins that evening. We had the place to ourselves, for once! I didn't even do my chores, I just laid down to take a nap or whatever. I thought I had more than earned a break. Then the phone rang, and a reservation was made, to check in 10 minutes later. Daniel literally stopped mid-shave to vacuum the hall carpeting for me, because I had decided to blow off my chores that day. I photographed the moment, a photograph that will forever epitomize that season of our lives.

Back to last night. Hours after the fire, I was miffed at Daniel because he failed to be completely thoughtful in every way. He wasn't happy about it, but he never once brought up how thoughtless I had been to leave oil festering over a hot flame for nearly half an hour. He never once brought up how he held Jubilee on the couch through dinner, because she was sad, while the rest of ate our fill. He just rolled over and went to sleep, leaving me lying awake, thinking about what a wonderful man I am married to, and willing the night to pass quickly so I could wake up and tell him so. I inched closer to him as he slept, until my back was touching his, and I tearfully thanked G0D for my very good man.

...because Glory happened.

2012-01-09T23:57:00.000-08:00

"This was the morning after Glory Girl had gone to heaven. We told Eliana when she got up that morning. Not surprisingly, she didn't show her emotion like we had. We heard her banging around in the kitchen, and then she came out and brought each of us a big glass of chocolate milk:). I think it was her way of saying, 'Don't cry because it's over...smile because Glory happened.'"
-Kerry Morton, Glory's mom

Eliana with her grandmas, and their glasses of chocolate milk.

cuteness. pure cuteness.

2012-01-09T03:03:00.000-08:00

Grand Parents

2012-01-07T04:34:00.000-08:00

I don't remember my father's parents. At least I don't remember them well. By the time I had my first loose tooth, my grandmother had already died, and my grandfather wasn't far behind her. We didn't actually bury him until I had started to save babysitting money for $50 jeans, but after Grandma died, his mind just climbed into a hole and never came back out again.

My mother's parents, on the other hand, were young when I was little, and they were busy starting over without each other. My sweet grandma loved me very much, but she had a new husband and years of her life to make up for. Grandpa loved me too, but he had a lot of grandsons to take hunting and fishing and hamburger-eating, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do with me.

That was alright, as far as I was concerned. I was too busy skipping rope and selling lemonade to notice the absence of any of them.

Years later, though, when my own kids started coming along, I did notice. I noticed when my dad stopped using his vacation time for tee-offs and fishing trips, and started driving my mom to births across the country in the middle of the night. I noticed when my mother-in-law took us in, when Bright was a baby and we had no place else to go. I noticed when their screensavers became pictures of toddlers with mixing bowls on their heads. I noticed beloved children's books from 20 years ago reappearing in baskets beside the couch. I noticed Daniel's mom collecting baby clothes in her closet, for grandchildren born and unborn. I noticed my mom collecting charms, each carefully chosen to represent the grandkids she treasured.

When we moved to East Asia and my parents switched all their buying to a mileage plus card, I noticed. When they started turning off 20/20 to sit in front of the webcam and give puppet shows on Skype, I noticed. When my mom read "Grandparenting With Love and Logic," I noticed.

When my mother-in-law gave up her way of living to make her granddaughter's short life as sweet as possible, everybody noticed.

And this winter, we get the pleasure of welcoming all three of the kids' grandparents to the Far East, for a total of 5 weeks of grandfathery, grandmothery, grandsmothery fun! United Airlines will be making four kids (and two grown-up kids) very, very happy.

Thank you, Grandpa, Grandma, and MoMo, for who and what you are. It means the world.


Grandpa and Grandma with our nephew, Jack.

MoMo with Kerry, Eliana, and Glory

See you soon!!!!!!!!!!

Gooseberry Theology

2012-01-05T00:09:00.000-08:00

If you've never bought a Gooseberry Patch cookbook, please do yourselves (and your husbands, and especially your kids) a favor and buy one in the very near future. It ain't gourmet, I will admit. Think going to your great-aunts's house for dinner. Think meat and gravy, oniony dips, punch bowls, cheesy vegetable sides, caramel rolls, gelatin salads, pudding cakes and berry tarts.

Mmmmmm.

Today I made buckeye bars from my newest Gooseberry Patch cookbook. They're like the famous buckeye candies, those chocolate-hugged peanut butter balls that we get sick on at New Year's Eve parties, except they are infinitely easier to make.

I made them to take to our every-other-week women's meeting, being held tonight at Anita's, where we are discussing chapter 6 of Feminine Appeal by Carolyn Mahaney. If Gooseberry Patch made a book on womanhood, this would be it. No frills. No hard-to-find ingredients. Just extending grace to your kids, wearing cute undies for your husband, opening your home to those who are down-and-out, etc. It's the kind of book with ugly brown flowers for cover-art and the scrolling-est title-font the publisher could find. The kind of book I would never, in a million years, pick up and leaf through at the book store, let alone purchase and bring home and read on my way to sleep at night.

That's why meeting regularly, and intentionally, with other women of faith is so important. It forces us to buy tacky-looking books which (if we stop rolling our eyes long enough to read) might actually change our lives. It's like a dessert recipe with a yellow cake mix in the ingredient list. Snobs like me go, "Oh come on, your grandmother impressed crowds for 30 years with this thing?" Then, we try the dang recipe, and we eat our words along with our second and third piece of the cake.

Sometimes, marshmallows and condensed milk really are all we need. Sometimes, meatloaf doesn't need to be reinvented. Sometimes, a kind word and a listening ear really can change the world.

One 7-layer-dip at a time.

It takes a village to adopt a child

2012-01-04T00:52:00.000-08:00

Some of our friends went to a local orphanage two days ago, a friend of mine was telling me over dinner. There were babies filling a room, lying in cribs, being held only during feedings. Unfortunately, the fact that the babies were held for feedings is remarkable. Many times in these places, bottles are wired on a tilt to the bars of the cribs.

One of my friends cried much of the time during her visit, I was told. She and her hubby are in the middle of their own adoption process, which means that their child, whoever she is, is still in a place like that, and it will be months before they get their arms around her.

While the details of this orphanage visit were being relayed to me, I was watching Jubilee from the corner of my eye. She was high up in Daniel's arms, wiggling against his relentless tickling. Her beautiful yellow face was all creased-up with joy. She was laughing. She had taco meat stains in the corners of her mouth. She was wearing clean, warm clothes. Her hair was shining and thick.

What a crazy thing, adoption. A child goes from a row of cribs in a concrete room to, "Jubilee, finish all your cheese and milk or you won't get any cake." Not only does she not know she was adopted, she doesn't know that she is Chinese (yet). Earlier this week she started to say, "Thank you," to Xiao Fu, but quickly corrected herself. "Xie Xie, Ayi," she said, and then she turned to me and said, "Say 'Xie Xie' to Ayi. Ayi talk Chinese."

Yesterday we received a box in the mail from the children's ministry at our home fellowship. These people are our backbone, and I mean that. Without them, and their precious kids, we simply could not be here. And all of these people are waiting to welcome Jubilee home. Waiting to love her. Waiting to smother her with kisses.

They said so themselves.

I'm afraid Jubilee doesn't know what she's got coming. Slip-and-slides and garage sales and hotdogs roasting on a stick. You see, she didn't just go from "orphan" to "daughter." Oh, no. Much, much more happened when she left that orphanage in that rented car on August 15. She became part of something HUGE, something most of us take for granted. Community.

Let the sweet tea flow, y'all, because this little Arkansan's got herself a hometown. Giddy up!

urban living

2012-01-02T00:48:00.000-08:00

Not much space in this teeming city is allotted for the play of children. Everybody can entertain their one child perfectly fine with the family pots and pans? I don't know, but our little brood would rattle the windows if they got their hands on my cookware. So into the van we pile on a day-off, and through the crowded, dusty streets we drive in search of a place, anyplace, for our kids to play.

Today's find? This place, on the roof of a random 6-story building.

Rock on!

2012-01-01T03:15:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, the adorable, naked, PG-rated music video of Brave and his guitar got recorded upside-down.

But this little performance in front of the dryer is awfully cute.

For better or for worse

2011-12-30T00:43:00.000-08:00

We utter phrases from time-to-time which can never fully be retracted. Things like, "You disgust me," "I love you," and "I do."

Now I can add to that list the phrase, "I solemnly swear to be her mother."

The papers are signed and she has no place else to go, even if she wanted to, and neither do I, for that matter. Sometimes we find ourselves in tears, she and I, holding each other warmly while fighting the urge to run far away and hide (because I know she feels it, too). We are both waiting for the newness to fade so we won't mind the smell of each other anymore.

I do so long for the day when she isn't a child I met four months ago. I want to have used up all the pasta that has been in my pantry longer than she has been in my home. I want to be rid of the temptation to idealize the simpler days, before Daniel and I entered into a permanent agreement with a perfect stranger (without her permission, mind you) altering all of our lives forever.

It is toddler adoption. It is the tiny, tangled threads that slowly, slowly, painstakingly build the web of this kind of parent/child relationship. It is "come here" and "go away." It is "why am I with you" and "how did I ever live without you." It is messy. It is beautiful.

It is bringing all of my sin to the very surface. Let me tell you, that ain't pretty.

But in every moment I am learning to trust the One who picked this journey for us; this journey for her. In the end, I hope all of us will know that His ways are always better than our ways. Love is always better than simplicity. Together is always better than not. Coming through on the other side a better person, a better family, is always - better.

"I do,"

for better,

for worse,

forever.

Until next year!

2011-12-27T23:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas was exhausting and wonderful. Jubilee caught on pretty quickly: smile and agree to wear tights, and you get new toys.

Other than our fridge going out, resulting in the loss of our Christmas dinner, things went off without a hitch. (For those of you who have made/eaten chicken and dumplings, you can appreciate our loss).

I LOVE the clothes that Momo gave me, and I LOVE the earrings that my parents got me from Spring Sweet, a boutique in downtown Holland that is owned and named-after a childhood friend of mine. I also LOVE the necklace that Daniel got me, which is a Chinese word that means "double happiness" and is used at weddings. I am wearing all of them in this (rather interesting) photo. Just to clarify, I have no illusions of being hot-to-trot. I was showing Daniel how much of myself I wanted in the shot, and he snapped a pic. Giggle, giggle.

Brave and Zion both looked very handsome with one of their favorite gals, Miss Michelle.

And this picture of Daniel and Brave could be my favorite picture of my husband. Ever. He only cracks this particular smile when he is laughing at something that he genuinely finds funny. He looks like this every time he is hanging out with Philip Morton.

Speaking of Brave, the cheap guitar I picked up for him at the last minute proved to be a sensational hit. I have a PG-rated video of this that I will post soon, but a picture will have to suffice for now.

And speaking of gifts, this was the year of Legos for Bright. He is so into them. The set that rose to the top was his RV set, from Grandma and Grandpa, of course.

Jubilee and I received DARLING matching aprons from Grandma and Grandpa, and at least one of us looks mighty cute in hers.

And let's not forget our favorite little redheads, our kids' best friends Kayleigh and Zeb! Kayleigh and Bright are still planning on getting married when they reach the marrying age of 21, and Kayleigh is planning on having 20 daughters with Bright. Bright has not commented on that detail.

And so, it is with many wonderful memories, made with many good friends, and it is with warm hearts and thick waistlines, that we pack up the bulbs and tinsel and drag our "tree" to the elevator. Until next year, Merry Christmas to all!

In order to understand why my back aches

2011-12-23T08:30:00.000-08:00

Today:
- white chocolate-dipped pretzels with real, American sprinkles
- peppermint fudge, with real, American candy canes
- veggie tray, every last grub and trace of human fertilizer thoroughly washed away
- brine ready for tomorrow's chicken
- vegetables for tomorrow's broth washed, chopped, and bagged
- ice trays emptied and refilled with clean drinking water
- cheese ball made and rolled in walnuts
- four kids wiped down and put in bed by myself, again. 'Tis the season to hardly see my husband.

Tomorrow:
- rise early and bake a red velvet cake, with real, American red food coloring
- grab one or two kids and head to the market to pick out a 6 pound chicken. I would buy a live one, but I don't know if Daniel has time to behead it for me. I'll probably just choose one off the bloody wooden slab.
- come home and rinse the bird, then plop it in the brine
- take kids to get their faces painted and watch Charlie Brown Christmas with all their friends
- bake crescent rolls
- boil the chicken and remove meat, return bones and skin to the pot with veggies to simmer for 4 hours, the goal being broth for tomorrow's dumplings
- clean the kids up and put them in their Christmas best for our Christmas Eve steak dinner at the Greene's
- put kids to bed and finish wrapping presents

Christmas:
- get up with the chickens for an unwrapping frenzy in the living room
- Skype call our families in the States
- make sweet tea
- make cinnamon rolls
- make chicken and dumplings
- make sausage balls, with homemade sausage and homemade "Bisquick" (because Christmas wouldn't be Christmas for Daniel without sausage balls)
- have our friends over for Christmas dinner
- collapse

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Pink rocking horse assembly: a first for Daniel Rupp. XOXO

Mommy's right here

2011-12-22T05:04:00.000-08:00

Jubilee is coming into her own lately. I think our 6-day mother/daughter trip really propelled her into a place of security. She is singing and dancing and sassing (oh yes, it happens, but don't think for a second that I put up with it;), and I even had an English-speaker on the bus the other day say to me, "She acts like you've always been her mother." True statement, I think. The speed with which Jubilee has become a Rupp, in every sense of the word, is honestly astounding.

Disregard the laundry pile in the hallway. I have four kids. Enough said.

And yet, when the sun sets behind the skyline, and she and Brave have had their wild and crazy bath, and the giggling and wrestling and tickling are done for the day, she gets slightly - ever so slightly - nervous. Her eyes widen. Her grip on my shirt intensifies. She stalls the bedtime progress with requests for bandaids, and suggestions on how to organize the bathroom. Every night, I assure her, stroke her black hair, kiss the flat bridge of her nose, pray with her, but still the anxiety persists.

Then, the other night, I said something to her that I haven't said, for whatever reason, since the moment she was placed in my arms.

"Mommy's right here," I said, just like I did when I held her for the first time and she was screaming and I didn't know what else to say. "Mommy's right here."

She stopped crying and looked at me from where she lay in her crib, and she repeated me, "Mommy's wight heah?"

"Yes, darling, Mommy's right here."

She smiled, pulled up her covers, and blew me a kiss. Apparently, that was all she needed to know.

Behind the wheel again

2011-12-20T02:37:00.000-08:00

In almost ten years of marriage, we had never purchased a car. Everything we drove before moving to East Asia had been given to us, and everything we have driven since has two wheels and needs to be plugged into the wall of the parking garage overnight in order to get down the road.

But then kid #4 came along, and one of our scooters was stolen (an uneventful occurrence over here, unfortunately), and we figured the time had come to buy a car.

So, after Daniel studied his brains out for an incredibly pointless driving test, and after he was handed a genuine local drivers license, he started researching vehicle options.

The best option for a "semi-longterm" family like ours is what they call a mian bao che (mee-en-baw-chuh). It means, "bread van," because it looks like a loaf of bread. The van on the right in this picture is a perfect example.

Not the coolest looking thing. After much looking and pricing, however, Daniel found a great deal on a much more suitable "bread van" for a 32-year-old American guy who has never bought a vehicle and deserves something mildly cool. I mean, c'mon, this dad has earned it.

And then (it really shouldn't have surprised us) the van fell right in line with everything else in our lives over here: nothing is what it seems. First of all, it took 6 weeks after ordering the thing for it to arrive. Second of all, Daniel was given three color choices: white, black, and green. It was a no-brainer for him; the van would be black. To which the salesman said, "No problem!"

The funny thing is, locals never know how to tell us "no." Instead, they say, "No problem!" to everything, and then try to talk us out of our choices. In this case, the salesman started by telling Daniel that a black van would take two weeks longer to come in. Daniel told him, three times in a row, that he didn't care. Finally, having reached desperation, the salesman looked Daniel right in the eye and said, "Green drives better." Uh-huh. Yep. Welcome to our world. Now Daniel knew what the salesman had known all along: the van only comes in green. OK, the van would be green.

Moving on.

When the green van finally did come in, it wasn't exactly in mint condition. The driver's side door had not been hung correctly and had to be slammed shut or the dome light would stay on. The alarm system had a small glitch, causing it to constantly re-arm itself. Not the best thing when you're trying to load four small kids in and out of the vehicle. The dealership did throw in a free, dark purple tint job (yay, thanks for nothing), but it was so dark purple you literally couldn't see through the windows. Needless to say, it had to be ripped out and redone. There were no seatbelts in the back seats (there never are), and every single solitary piece of the vehicle had its bar code sticker left on it from the assembly line, which would later take Daniel and a bottle of GooGone 2 1/2 hours to remove.

Worst of all, as Daniel drove the van off the lot, he noticed the low-gas light was flashing. Yep, they sold him a brand new car with an empty gas tank.

The cherry on top? As Daniel tried to get to a gas station as quickly as possible, he realized that he couldn't get the van into third gear. First gear, then second, a painful rejection from third, followed by a sinking fourth...Daniel was furious. He had to puff and sputter, without the use of the third gear, to the gas station (actually four, because the first three wouldn't sell him gas), before returning directly to the dealership for repairs.

For weeks and weeks and weeks, my incredibly busy husband spent almost all of his free time getting our new van in working order. After all he'd been through to get the wrinkles smoothed out, he figured he would get the thing starched to perfection. He needed something to go right with his green van. Yes, folks, a custom roof rack was in order! My poor husband cut his finger something horrible helping this guy sketch, cut, coat, and assemble the roof rack of his dreams.

But in the end, Daniel's finger healed, and we paid a ridiculously low amount of money (in cash) for a cool (and relatively safe) 1.378-liter 10-seater, with a roof rack for all our stuff and a smokin' top speed of 74.56 miles per hour. I know nothing about cars, but Daniel tells me there are lawnmowers in the States with bigger motors.

But hey, we're not complaining! It looks great, it goes down the road, and the kids and I no longer have to worry about helmet-hair and sore behinds.

And Daniel is just happy to get behind the wheel again.

family ties

2011-12-18T07:15:00.000-08:00

We weren't there the day she was born. We weren't there the days she lived. We weren't there the day she died.

But we were family, and we loved her.

And now, we miss her.
So.
Much.

We love you forever, Glory,
Uncle D, Auntie K, Bright, Zion, Brave, and Jubilee

This year

2011-12-17T05:38:00.000-08:00

This time of year Daniel gets very busy, and I get very blue. This being our fourth Christmas in East Asia, away from family, and my sixth Christmas in a row without snow, I tend to get a little pickled during the month of December.

Yet I have to say, this year my heart is lighter. I can't figure out why. Of all the years to have a light heart, this one brought the mourning of Sue-Sue's passing, and this week's end to baby Glory's long fight for her life. There was the shocking death of my cousin's son, Karter, which brought all of us to our knees. Daniel and I stumbled through three medical emergencies with Brave, a toddler adoption (hel-lo), spiritual warfare that nearly sunk us, Xiao Fu's brother's fatal misstep, and a bout with the yucks for me that nearly lasted half a year and smelled faintly of depression.

So why the light heart now? Why the energy to keep wrapping and baking and lighting advent candles with my children? Why the desire to crank up the jingle and the jangle of vintage carols and smile my way through "White Christmas" with Daniel?

Could it be all the times the six of us have been apart in the last few months, causing me to relish every moment with them? Could it be all the encounters with death, causing me to recognize the blessing of every day life?

Could it be that I am finally, FINALLY adjusting to "the pill" ? (ah-hem)

Could it be prayer? (um,yes)

Could it be me, getting older, and shedding a bit of the fuzzy down that characterizes the wobbly, chirpy beginnings of adulthood?

Or could it be the wail of a newborn baby in a stable in Bethlehem, signalling the end of hopelessness and the birth of happiness for all mankind?

I'm thinking all of the above. Whatever the reason, this Christmas season, even as we grieve the loss of our niece and consequently long to be in America right now, I feel...well...pretty good. Listening in on Daniel's conversation with Kerry on Skype last night helped, too, for who can ride the tide of gloom when Glory's mom is able to laugh with her goofy little brother?

Yes, this year, we are all going to be alright.

When the call came in

2011-12-15T17:45:00.000-08:00

It was a warm day in Guangzhou, China. My 2 1/2-year-old daughter of four months was taking a nap on the other side of our suite at the Garden Hotel. I was looking from the window across the smoggy cityscape packed with millions, and I was praying for our family. Glory's CO2 levels were rising and pretty soon her brain would tell her body to stop breathing. It was only a matter of hours now.

The phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked. I wondered if I should be sitting down.

"She just passed, honey," came Daniel's voice.

And that was all he said. I gently said goodbye and we hung up. Daniel and I had decided ahead of time that if she passed while I was on Jubilee's visa trip in Guangzhou, there would be no way to get Daniel back for the funeral. My heart and my head fell. All I could think about was Kerry.

Yet, as I sat alone in room 1506, on the other side of the world, I knew that Kerry and Philip are not to be felt sorry for. In this life they have been given two daughters, Eliana and Glory, and though Glory's life on earth has ended, her life eternal has only just begun. She is free now, to breathe without laboring, and to walk and not grow weary, and to say all the words she couldn't in her 16 months in Little Rock, Arkansas. Kerry and Philip will begin a new journey now, to live out the rest of their days in the spirit of their fighting baby girl, trusting in the One who gives and takes away.

Daniel and I were up past midnight last night, wearing black, when the call came in from Glory's funeral. The music was beautiful, the arrangements were stunning, the casket was lovely, and the pictures of precious Glory were breathtaking. Kerry and Philip, though grieving parents that they are, had an almost visible cloud of celebration around them. It was evident even through the webcam.

I hope that when my call comes in, I am living and fighting and loving and trusting like Glory was when the L0RD called her home this week. Like the pastor said in Glory's eulogy, some people live their whole lives and never live, their whole lives. May my story be different. May I live, as my niece did, for the glory of G0D.

going away for a while

2011-12-08T02:00:00.001-08:00

In order for our little Chinese doll...

...to be granted a visa for entry into the home of the brave and the land of the free, it is necessary for me to take her back to her province capital. We leave tomorrow.

I will be away from these guys for 7 whole days! That is the longest my sons and I have ever been apart. Yes, I got a little weepy about it today.

But I spent the day making pot pie, mexican lasagne, beer bread, and banana muffins so my four dear menfolk wouldn't starve. And I lesson-planned for my substitute teacher, a smokin' hot young man who has graciously agreed to do more than wrestle and watch Bear Grylls movies while I am away.

And just in case the plane goes down, I left two handwritten letters in the stationary basket; one addressed to the best three boys on earth, and one addressed to their daddy. You just never know.

Signing off until December 15th. Have a great week!

How Brave felt about the whole thing

2011-12-07T03:33:00.001-08:00

1.) Feeling quite apprehensive ("Things are about to change, aren't they?").

2.) Getting cold feet ("Who's idea was this?").

3.) Suddenly terrified ("Help, the poop is coming, without a warm, familiar place for it to land!!!!")

4.) Despairing ("They aren't saving me. They aren't saving me.")

5.) The passage into childhood ("Oh, oh, here it comes.")

6.) He did it! We all rush in to offer our congratulations.

7.) He hugs his prize. Good job, son! Yes, I realize I am letting you see my lovely East Asian bathroom in these pics, and I feel very vulnerable, so please be kind.

8.) Suspicious ("That was a one-time deal, right?"). Look at those awesome cheeks!

From day one...

to day now...

you have been a wonderful, tumble-ful, bundle-ful, my handsome Brave Ransom. Welcome to the rest of your life.

to plot, or not to plot

2011-12-04T21:22:00.001-08:00

Today at noon, over warmed-up enchiladas and over the sound of four kids babbling and giggling and dropping their forks, Daniel and I attempted to have a conversation. About burial plots.

"My family is buying plots on Logtown Hill," he said to me. "Should we think about joining them?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, "I think I'd rather be cremated and scattered over the surface of Lake Michigan. I'm a Michigander, y'all!" (yes, that is a direct quote).

We took a few more bites of enchilada and poured one or two sippycup refills before Daniel picked up where we left off.

"I know why you want to do that," Daniel said, "but I think that might be weird for the kids. There is something about looking at a body and then putting it in the ground, where it will stay until the end. It makes sense. Whereas, 'Mom is floating around in Lake Michigan,' just...doesn't."

I chewed my bite, seeing his point. The grieving mind needs to have things fed to it, in a way that is easy to swallow.

"Where is the rest of your family?" I asked.

"Mam-maw and Pap-paw are up in Dripping Springs," he said, "and of course Pawpaw and Sue-Sue are in The National Cemetery in Fort Smith."

"What if we went up to Michigan? We could buy plots near my family," I suggested, with a wink, because I knew Daniel would never be buried that far from his people.

"No way," he said, "too cold." Oh for goodness sake. "Besides," he went on, "I like the idea of a nice little place on Logtown Hill, in the shade of a tree, with the warm breeze blowing and the peace and quiet and all."

I rolled my eyes. "See," I said, more emphatically than I feel, for the sake of friendly argument, "this is exactly what I am talking about. The whole idea is absurd. You won't be in the shade of a tree or feeling the warm breeze. You may as well save everybody the trouble."

He was smiling broadly, happy to be getting at me, and he leaned back and said, "Ahhh...It gives a person something to look forward to." That Daniel Rupp, he is impossible. A lot of good a Masters of Divinity did for him.

let the land rest

2011-12-03T22:32:00.001-08:00

We are 31 and 32 years old, with four young children, and we are at a bit of crux. A fork of sorts, if you will; one tine going in the direction of what I mentioned yesterday (Hardy Boys books and all-day trips), and the other going in the direction of more and more and more precious little ones under foot. We are still so young, as many would say. We have energy and arms and fertility, not to mention a heart for adoption. Why stop now?

It's tempting, really, to keep receiving children into our fold, just because we can. But then, just because you could eat the whole cake, doesn't mean you should. The question is, "When does it stop?" Or perhaps a more accurate question, "When should it stop?"

We have a handful of friends who believe that G0D alone should answer that question. They have lots of kids, with no end in sight. Is that what all of us should do, in order to prove to G0D that we trust Him with every last shred of our lives?

Or, perhaps, dare I pose, that G0D invented the machine to work, and is it possible that the machine has an off-switch? Is it OK to use it?

Korrie once worded it very well, and in a way that rang true in my heart. She said something to the effect of, "Think of it like a garden. If you plant it, it will yield a crop. Yet, everyone knows there is a time to sow, a time to harvest, and a time to let the land rest. G0D could keep the seed from growing in the soil, true. He certainly could. But he has appointed us stewards, and stewards we must wisely be."

Still there is another reason (for me) to keep having more kids. To put off the inevitable, and to pretend that time does not march on. The truth is, time will march on for that baby, too, and the next, and the next. At some point, I am going to have to face the fact that time is linear, and I must travel it. At the end of the line is arthritis and hearing loss and hemorrhoids, and then death (if not sooner). Having more babies can not change that.

When I look at my children, I will tell you what I see. I see, among many wonderful things, all that I can possibly handle.

So, barring a direct call from G0D (which, of course, trumps all), the time has come, I think, to let the land rest.

six people in underwear

2011-12-02T21:02:00.001-08:00

Gather all your loved ones together and party like its 1999! Why? On this day, December 3 (at least it is over here in East Asia), 2011, Kayla Rupp has potty trained her last child! I'm finished, done, el finito, that's all she wrote, the fat lady has sung, the timer has rung, its closing time, the end has come. It happened so fast, I hardly know what to think. It just seemed to happen.

I'm sure Brave will have accidents, but he is way too far into it to turn back now. I will buy diapers no more.

Yes, I cried. Just now, while holding an XL diaper (which should have been an XXL on account of the size of Brave's cheeks but I couldn't bring myself to go there). So many emotions accompany me this day: soaring elation, disbelief, sadness, excitement, and wonder at how DARN fast time goes by.

For years, Daniel has been giving sermon illustrations about family life and he has always said, "When everyone in the family poops in the right place, then we will finally be somewhere." Today, as I stared at two of Brave's turds floating in the toilet water, I thought, 'Here we are. We are here. We are somewhere.'

What's next? No naps? Oh MAN that will be nice. Load the car in the morning and roll in with sleeping kids at bedtime. What FUN we will have then. Sure, I could wallow in grief that my babies are growing up, but I am choosing a different response. I am ready to embrace the next phase of Rupp life. Bring on the loose teeth and Hardy Boys books, because this mama has retired the Boudreaux's Butt Paste for good.

she has returned

2011-11-28T23:09:00.001-08:00

After four weeks of wheeling my four kids through the market to buy meat, bumping the stroller over chicken poop and corn husks, to bring the meat home and remove the hairs and blood clots myself, then chop and tenderize and slowcook until a meal could be on the table - Xiao Fu is back!!!

Bright's exact words were, "It's so nice to have a housekeeper again."

Eh-hem.

In any case, there were tears and hugs and nods of understanding that crossed the language barrier as we welcomed our thinner, tanner, and wearier Xiao Fu yesterday morning.

Today she and I, with the help of charades and our trusty Chinese/English dictionary, talked about how the past four weeks have been for all of us. I stood in awe of her iron faith as she spoke, and her raw pain as she cried. Her hands were shaking as she leafed through our Chinese/English Bib1e, stopping when she came to Isaiah 48:10, which reads, "See, I have refined you, though not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction."

And then we went our separate ways; she to scrub the toilets, and I to walk Bright and Zion through their math lessons. All the while a feeling of praise lingered in the air, and in my heart I wondered at the rich and lovely and mysterious love of G0D.

Welcome back, my helper, my teacher, my friend.

our 10th Christmas tree, in pictures

2011-11-27T23:50:00.001-08:00

We have always had a real tree, even when that "tree" was a small succulent plant in the corner of our shoe-box-sized married housing apartment in seminary.


Circa 2004. Notice the blue couch? Had to sell it when we moved East. So sad.

This year is no different, except that this year we put up our 10th real tree! Ten Christmas trees, now that is something. I guess we can no longer justify calling ourselves newlyweds. Oh well, at least my husband still looks like this:

Now, due to the same cedar tree shortage we were up against last year, we had to buy another cone-shaped shrub, but it beats the heck out of hanging lights on something made of wire and plastic (no offense meant toward those of you who put up fake trees).

So yesterday, Daniel and the two older boys headed to the nursery. It was a beautiful day, characteristic of our city this time of year.

The red clay that is IMPOSSIBLE to get out of the knees of jeans.

They found a tree, with this guy's help:

They loaded the tree into the back of the van, where two goof balls took a well-earned rest.

Once the tree was home, Daniel potted it in our living room, and then the decorating commenced.

Jubilee's first Christmas tree.

And a picture of the mama, purely for the sake of posterity.

After it was all said and decorated, Daniel took a nap and I took a good look at what has become our life. Four stockings hung by the entertainment center with care. A gold star made by deaf women who were rescued from the streets of China and taught to sew. Ten Christmases together, each one a little bit sweeter than the one before.

Two more minutes

2011-11-26T22:04:00.001-08:00

The other day my dad, who just gets more handsome as his beard gets more white, said to me, "We know how the bonding process is going between you and Jubilee, but what about the bond with her brothers?"

So today I will highlight the bond between "The Toddlers," as we call them. Everything he can do, she can do better...no she can't...yes she can (reference to Annie Get Your Gun, which I saw once with my mother-in-law on Turner Classic Movies). If he gets a scrape and needs a band aid, she needs a band aid for her "scrape," too. If she gets to take her socks off, he immediately wants nothing more in all the world than to be barefooted. They will both be walking along happily, until I pick one of them up. Then the other one is no longer content to be walking. Many tears ensue. I usually have to crouch down and scoop them both on a knee for a moment until they are certain that I love them both very much. She usually chooses the right knee, he the left. Of course, they would prefer that I stand up and hold them, but I am not a professional body builder. Brave alone ways as much as a medium-sized dog.

They quarrel some, but mostly play. While Bright and Zion are attached at the hip, these two are, too. They chase each other from one end of the apartment to the other. They bring each other toys or treats that they think the other might like. They even hold hands, unsolicited, for pictures in their Sunday best outside of McDonald's after Daddy preaches about Hannah longing for her Messiah to come.

And without fail, when told to put their toys down and come to the table, or to the bathtub, or to bed, they both look up at us with two fingers in the air and petition, almost in unison, "Two more minutes???"

cute, but no cigar

2011-11-25T23:50:00.001-08:00

We ended up using a different family picture for the Christmas card, but this one, taken on Thanksgiving, at the Greene's apartment, moments before sitting down to make gluttons of ourselves, is kind of cute in its own way.

Jubilee never, ever smiles for the camera unless Daniel or I am holding it. Consequently, all of our family pics display a little girl who seems to be saying, "Who dumped me with this crazy group of people?" I promise, she is very happy with us. You'll have to take my word for it.

I, myself, am thankful, thankful, thankful to be a part of this crazy group of people (or as the Heddens call us, the Rupp Trupp).

Zion unfolding

2011-11-25T04:49:00.001-08:00

When he was born, Zion looked like a baby bird who had fallen from its nest. We could see through his skin, which hung from his tiny bones in wrinkled, papery folds. I held all four pounds of him (he was full-term, you remember) and I looked into his handsome face no bigger than an apple, wondering what wondrous thing he would grow into.

I am beginning to see.

Lately it has become clear that Zion loves art. He literally needs to create.

Today Zion begged, as he often does, to be allowed to paint. I consented. Out came the aprons and the old rags, and today a sturdy cardboard fan from Kaylee and Phom's wedding (printed on one side with the COOLEST love story ever; I figured they wouldn't mind). Also today, Bright, who's giftings are heavily weighted in other departments, took to reading the back of the package of paints.

"Try combing for a great texture," he read. "Mama, I'm going to do THAT." So off to the bathroom he went and when he returned he was carrying a comb. Bright did comb his paint, for a second or two, and then he decided to move on to something else. Zion, however, took that comb and went to town.

The finished product? "Sunset," by Zion Rupp.

I am so looking forward to watching Zion unfold more and more. That is a wonderful sunset, my treasured son!

a miraculous succession of days

2011-11-23T23:23:00.001-08:00

This Thanksgiving, we are reminded that our days on this earth are numbered, and every hectic moment of life is a gift.

Every single moment.

Glory Danielle should not have lived more than a week. Her birth defects include: Hypoplastic LeftHeart Syndrome, Double Outlet Right Ventricle, Atrioventricular Canal, andHeterotaxy, as well as esophagealatresia (the upper portion of her esophagus is not connected to her stomach),tracheophageal fistula, asplenia (she was born without a spleen), andbronchomalacia (her left lung is very underdeveloped and weak).

And yet, she HAS lived more than a week. She has lived for 16 months! Her life, though short in our eyes, has been a miraculous succession of days, and every one of them a gift.

Now Glory is going on home-care, to be made as comfortable as possible. There is nothing more the doctors can do for her.

Let us not forget that all of our lives are short, shorter than we think, and all of our lives are a miraculous succession of days.

How quickly we forget.

As I ate turkey and sweet potatoes today, celebrating all that G0D has given me, my heart was thankful for one thing above all else: today. Another day on this earth, to love, to laugh, and to live. Thank you, G0D, for the gift of Glory Danielle.

problem solved

2011-11-22T03:12:00.001-08:00

I don't read parenting books. They cause me to lose sleep. Lists of ways I am failing miserably? No thank you.

Our parenting style is two-fold. 1.) Fly By The Seat of Our Pants 2.) Do Whatever Allison Hilliard Tells Us To Do.

It's worked pretty well so far. We've got some wonderful kids, if I do say so myself.

But getting back to not reading parenting books, there are times when I wish I did. For example, our new daughter has been nervous at the dinner table since day-one. We're not sure why. Its as if the whole experience terrifies her (she'd make a poor first-impression on a date). Lately she has taken to rubbing her hands through her hair in a frantic way - hands which are, of course, covered in peanut butter or pizza sauce or what-have-you. By the time she gets down from the table, Jubilee resembles a model in a swanky hairstyle magazine.

Seeing her doing this was driving me BATTY. I tried disciplining her for it, but it was for naught. She wasn't defying me; she wasn't even aware of what she was doing. We were getting nowhere, and both of us were a wreck by the time Daniel had poured himself his second glass of sweet tea.

So what a does a mom who doesn't read parenting books do in situations like this? She steps into the other room to think, think, think. Aha! I'll tie a bandana around her head for mealtimes. And that is exactly what I did.

Jubilee wasn't too sure what to make of it at first.

But within minutes we were all smiles, and mealtimes looked hopeful once again.

We were having such a good time, in fact, that Mr. Dimple wanted in on the fun.

Jubilee left the rag on her head for the entire meal, and even cried a little when I took it off and hung it on the back of her chair.

Problem.

Solved.

xie xie nimen! (thanks, y'all!)

2011-11-20T22:18:00.001-08:00

The goal for our matching grant has been met, and then some!! The grant will give us all the money that was raised, so we are ending up with a very nice help toward the remaining expenses of our adoption. We praise G0D for his providing hand, and we thank YOU for your open hand.

We've tried hard to send thank-you notes to those of you who gave. We've already sent out two mailings, and one more mailing will be on its way soon (mailing from here to there is a bit tricky). For those of you who never end up with a thank-you note, please forgive our not being able to round up your address. We know ALL of your names, though, and they are going in the baby book! Jubilee Sue is tucked snugly into our family, to be loved and cared for forever, and many of you had a hand in that. Thank you so much, and may you be blessed!

why I still bake cookies

2011-11-19T23:32:00.001-08:00

I had a hot fudge sundae for lunch. And a coke zero.

I need not tell you what kind of week I've had.

I will say this, however. I came to a very important conclusion this week, and I came to it today (right before consuming the sundae).
My kids are not me, nor are they extensions of me.

No one will ever be able to accuse me of going at parenting half-heartedly, of that I am certain. And yet, will my children "turn out" perfectly, like cookies from dough made with room temperature butter and placed on a cool cookie sheet and pulled from the oven at exactly the right moment? There is no way to tell. In fact, unless you are a cookie-whisperer like my mother, the way our cookies turn out is completely out of our hands. Thankfully, cookies are not exactly like children. Thankfully, children have a loving and sovereign Father taking much better care of them than we are. And thankfully, when it comes to cookies, I have a husband who'll happily eat the first dozen no matter what. To be honest, Daniel is the only reason I still bake cookies. Being the perfectionist that I am, I wanted to give up on the unpredictable little devils at the end of our first year of marriage.

"Please don't quit on them," he said to me back then, "I like them way too much."

a peek into my heart

2011-11-17T18:48:00.001-08:00

three months later

2011-11-16T06:02:00.001-08:00

Jubilee Rupp has been ours for 3 months now. We joke that she is more like a butterfly than a child, flitting around, light-as-a-feather, landing on one of her brothers and delivering affection before flitting off to land on another brother, or her mama (that's me!) or her daddy, who she might just be a bit partial to. For the longest time I think she thought Daniel was perfect, coming home each evening with a big smile and lots of love to give. She is just now figuring out that he, too, will discipline her if he needs to, though anyone can see it nearly kills him.

She is also just figuring out that dolls can be fun, and that they aren't like other babies she has had to contend with. They aren't going to cry, and they aren't going to take away any of the attention. To my utter delight, her favorite doll is the one we brought along when we adopted her.

She is not quite so bone-skinny (must be all the butter and sugar in her new American diet) and she is saying 3 and 4 word sentences in English. She is a very verbal child, and sensitive to the feelings of others. Pair those traits with her sweet disposition, her smarts, and the fact that she is...well, lets face it...ADORABLE, and we are two very smitten parents over here in East Asia, biting at the bit to get our daughter to America to show her off. Wouldn't you?

Happy 3-months, baby girl! We love you to pieces!

being prepared for something

2011-11-13T22:16:00.001-08:00

I could write about how home school is going. I could tell you that if a word ends in "le", the last syllable grabs a consonant to go with it, and if the preceding syllable has a short vowel sound, it grabs a consonant, too. That is why "apple" has a double p and "dabble" has a double b, while a word like "ladle" has only one d. I tell ya, I wrote complicated papers on Shakespeare, and graduated with honors from the English department at Hope College, and yet I never learned this. It turns out that our language has a method to its madness. Huh.

I could write about Brave feeling better, but I am a little tired of talking about my son's bowel movements. I'm sure you are tired of reading about them.

I could write about my faith in CHR1ST, but I think I've been a bit too wide-open with my heart lately, and so I'll keep that to myself today.

I could update you on Glory, but there is nothing much to report. No news is usually good news. She fights for her life every day, and time passes faithfully, bringing new days behind it. I could update you on Xiao Fu, but again, nothing to report. Her brother fell into a crag and cracked his head on a rock. He died instantly, and a piece of his little sister died, too. We have not heard from her since.

Sometimes life is not like the word "apple" nor the word "idle." Sometimes we come across a word that has no rule, and we just have to accept it.

So instead of sharing the world's best pumpkin bread recipe that I got from Chad and Kristy last year, and instead of writing about how wonderful my husband is, and instead of telling you that Daniel and I have decided to give our unplanned, 5th child (who we are bound to have in our 40s) the name "Bronco," I will quote a dear friend of mine and leave her name anonymous:

"The days are becoming so difficult. We believers are being prepared for something."

overdue update

2011-11-12T22:24:00.001-08:00

A thousand apologies for leaving our prayer warriors stuck on their knees for a few days. Our internet here is spotty, and it picks the most inopportune times to choke out on us. Almost the moment Daniel and Brave got home from Thailand, the internet stopped working.

Grrrr.

The update is, they are home, and Brave is OK, though things looked pretty bleak on Friday. The poor dude picked up ANOTHER virus while at the hospital, so he is sicky-sick right now again, and is having more digestive problems, on account of his lymph node swelling to fight this new bug. It looks like this is our new life. Wonderful. At least we are keeping him hydrated this time and the urinating problem is staying away.

It boils down to this: it is better to make 1-2 trips to Bangkok, Thailand each year to be hospitalized for complications from his over-active lymph node, than for him to have undergone intestinal surgery at 2, re-wiring him for the rest of his life.

There is a word in this language, "Mafan," and it means "trouble" in the pain-in-the-neck sort of way. That's what this is. Mafan. Thankfully we are looking at nothing worse. We contribute this victorious news to our Creator G0D, the Great Healer and Provider, and to all of your conversations with Him on Brave's behalf over the past the 8 days. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Sooooo, we are focusing now on getting back to "normal" life, and hoping for a good, long break from our friends on Ward 7. Our couch at home is a much better spot. Welcome home, Handsome Ransom. Stick around for a while now, would ya?!

Iranian Nurse Practitioners and rota virus

2011-11-07T07:41:00.000-08:00

The word from Bangkok is, Brave has a rash now on his cheeks, chest, and abdomen, which is a common sign that rota virus is dying out in his body. Though he has been vaccinated for rota virus, children can still get it, it just doesn't kill them. They are going to run a test on his stool tomorrow, more for curiosity sake, to see if that was how this started, leading to an enlarged lymph node, causing mesenteric lymphadenitis, causing severe dehydration, landing him in the hospital. I don't doubt that this did start with rotavirus. If it has a big fancy medical name, Brave is probably going to get it.

I still cry a lot, mainly now because our family is in two pieces, over the border, and it looks like it's going to be days and days before we are reunited. The greatest piece of news of the weekend is, his urinating pain is gone, gone, gone. I could eat a whole chocolate cake I'm so excited. Thank you GOD, and thank you everyone for your prayers.

While Daniel has been on his medical globe-trotting tour with my toddler, he has met some interesting folks. Topping the charts is a group of male, Iranian nurse practitioners, who are peddling prosthetic limbs. They helped my husband carry his bags, and gave him their business cards, saying, "If you are ever in Iran, call us, and we will help you."

"Hang on to those business cards," I told Daniel. "You just never know."

a note from Daniel

2011-11-06T15:07:00.000-08:00

Daniel emailed this note to our friends in our city, and I thought it was such GOOD news and so much more level-headed and first-hand than what I've been reporting, that I wanted to post it on the blog.

Hey Guys,

I’m just now getting to email so I wanted to update you onwhat’s happening and to say thanks to each one of you for helping out my family– really, I’m not sure if we could do this without the support you guys havegiven.

I’ll try to make it short – 2 things can happen when you’vegot a swollen lymph node on your intestine, the first is what happened lastyear, the second is what’s happening now. I don’t know the name of thecondition but it sounds like a city in Lord of the Rings. Basically, he’sbeen really uncomfortable, and barely able to poop. So uncomfortable thathis appetite has been very low, which means he’s been getting almost no liquidsfrom foods and has gotten dehydrated. That’s why he’s had pain duringurination and very little actual fluid – something which had initiallyconcerned us a great deal.

Now, he’s been on fluids since we’ve gotten here and he’speeing a lot, he’s pooped twice and each one has happened with less pain. The docs say from his stool samples and blood work that he probably got a viralinfection in his intestine from something (i.e. China) and that’s what causedthe node to swell up. If the node will go down on his own as his bodyfights the infection, then he’ll get more comfortable and will not needsurgery. If they do not continue to go down, then they willre-evaluate. This morning was a real low point in his overall state, butfrom about 11am until bedtime tonight he continually improved though stillhaving some pain.

Hopefully tomorrow he will be even better – if that’s thecase, then you could expect us back sometime in the middle of the week. If he continues to have pain, and they re-run the ultrasound to find the nodeis still swollen, then I’m not sure what will happen.

Thanks again for your prayers!

Daniel

my little gift

2011-11-06T05:31:00.000-08:00

Docs are now saying mesenteric lymphadenitis. He has an enlarged lymph node on his intestine, the same one which caused intussuception last year, and that is the supposed culprit. This condition causes abdominal pain, and clears up on its own. Problem is, this diagnosis does not explain his crotch pain or his difficulty peeing.

Perhaps this mystery will never be solved. At this point I don't care. I just want Daniel to bring me a healthy baby boy at some point.

For now, the three kids left in my care have been tucked in, I have shed so many tears my eyes are dry and burning, and the house needs desperate attention. I think I'll go wash my dishes, since my dishwasher is not electric, but has two lovely brown hands, and those hands are still wringing with grief in a faraway village.

But before I put on the JJ Heller music and fill the sink with hot soapy water, I will leave you with this happy little story. Let me first tell you that bonding between a mother and an adopted toddler daughter is...delicate, at best, and bumpy at worst. We've had our struggles. Tonight, however, I realized something brand new: Jubilee is, among many other things, a little gift just for me. As I sat on the edge of my bed after dinner, unloading tears to my precious L0RD, I heard the pit pat of little feet behind me. I knew they weren't Bright's or Zion's, for I could hear their voices playing pretend in the living room, resilient amidst the pain and confusion going on in their world. Such is the way with boys and men. Resilient. No, the little feet belonged to a future woman, one with silky black bangs and a soft voice. She stopped at the edge of the bed.

"Mommy sad?" she asked lightly.
I nodded my head and opened an arm to her. She crawled in, and laid her head against my sweatshirt.
"I uv oo Mommy," she said.
"Oh darlin," I said, and kissed her hair, "Mommy loves Jubilee."

She snuggled closer. The boys continued to whir and crash and laugh in the other room. In that moment, I realized that I have been given a forever hug, a forever listening ear, and forever warmth in my coldest hours. My little gift.

please help us solve this mystery

2011-11-05T23:08:00.000-07:00

Our friend Roger told us recently that our life could be a reality TV show. I am starting to think he's right. What would we call it...hmmm. "Daniel and Kayla's Chaos," perhaps.

So there are three pieces of good news.
1.) I am still a believer (in case my brutal honesty the other day freaked anybody out;)
2.) Brave is able, eventually, to urinate (though it is very painful) and poop is happening too, though also very painfully.
3.) Kidney function test came back normal

There are three pieces of bad news.
1.) He is now acting more sick and tired, and the pain seems to be getting worse.
2.) They are still stumped.
3.) I am a nervous wreck.

If anyone is a doctor, or knows a doctor, who knows why my son would have the following symptoms, PLEASE comment.
-Started with diahrea
-Then loss of appetite, not wanting to drink
-Then two days of saying his tummy hurt, touching his lower abdomen and crotch
-Then crying when he pooped, and seemed backed up, but stool when he did poop was loose
-Then long periods without peeing, and screaming when he did pee
-Now tired-acting, still going long periods without peeing and pooping, crying in pain when either happens. He is on fluids, and it seems to be getting worse. Ruled out kidney problem and bacterial infection. Doc saying severe dehydration, waiting and watching. I'm not comfortable with that. I know my kid, and this is not right.

Please help us solve this mystery! Thank you for your prayers.

waste disposal update

2011-11-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

Talked to Daniel. Brave is on fluids, ate soup, and is down now for the night. The nurses on Ward 7 left the light on for him from his peanut incident, so he felt right at home.

Sheesh, that kid.

Anyway, a better look at his intestines left the docs almost ready to rule out his bum lymph node as the culprit this time. The thought right now is that his waste-disposal systems haven't been functioning on account of severe dehydration. Now that's weird. It's not like he ever stopped drinking. I mean, he did have diarrhea last week, but we live in East Asia - that's like noting that the wind blew.

Either way, a night on fluids should be very telling. Usually when he's on fluids I have to change his diaper ever couple of hours. Those Huggies set absorbency records on kids hooked up to IVs. A dry diaper tomorrow morning would be scary, and very painful for him, at which point the docs would be extremely concerned.

They don't expect that. They expect to get him back on his feet and out the door in a few days. Whew.

Of course they'll run all the tests: stool, urine, blood, checking for proper kidney function, disease, and infection, but they don't expect to turn up anything.

Again, whew.

The litmus test will be his pain level. If he is comfortable "down there" tomorrow, then we are in the clear. If not, then we are all incredibly stumped.

I go to bed now with a heart much encouraged, and hoping to hear that Brave woke up soaked from his widows' peak to his little fat feet.

without a doubt

2011-11-04T23:32:00.000-07:00

Have you ever doubted? Have you ever wondered if all that you believe in is bunk? If your answer is, "No, of course not!" then you either live your life completely at the epidermis, or you are in denial.

This morning was a low point for me. Even with Daniel's parting words ringing in my ears, "You're job while I'm gone is not to think, but to trust," I was still so full of anxiety I could hardly see straight. Worry played its seductive tune to every cell in my brain, until I found myself looking at the boys' natural history books and thinking, "What about the dinosaurs? How can we explain that, really, in the context of Noah and his ark and all the rest?"

A few minutes down the road, after I failed Jubilee miserably, I retreated to the other room alone. There I cried out to G0D. "L0RD," I sobbed, "I am so afraid for Brave. It is causing me to doubt, and to be mean, and to feel downright horrible. Please, L0RD, give me a sign that you are here. Remind me of where I've come with you. Help!"

Next, I checked my email. There was a note from my mom, saying that she was praying, and saying that she had read a verse in Psa1ms and was claiming it for me today. Chapter 29, verse 11. I read it and felt a little better. It was nice to hear from my mom.

Then things got downright creepy. As I set about unpacking the box that Mandy just sent in the mail, I lifted out a lovely daily devotional by Sarah Young and, figuring it couldn't hurt, opened it to today's date. The words were spot-on. "This is a training opportunity," it read, "since I designed you for deep dependence on your Shepherd-King. Challenging times wake you up and amplify your awareness of needing my help." (Jes_s Calling, p. 323).

Then...

I looked at the suggested verses at the bottom of the page. There were four of them. Four. Single. Verses. Out of the whole entire Bib1e. One of the verses was Psa1m 29:11.

The verse from my mom.

FREAKY? Maybe a little. G0D has a way of freaking us out from time to time. I asked for a sign, didn't I? Well, he delivered. Does that explain the dinosaurs? Uh, not really. But who cares about extinct lizards when I have a G0D who cares for me that beautifully?

"The L0RD gives strength to his people; the L0RD blesses his people with peace." -Psa1m 29:11

Yes, He certainly does. Without a doubt.

soliciting prayers for Brave (again)

2011-11-04T16:51:00.000-07:00

Our little pumpkin is having problems with his pooper and his pee-er again. Both are backed up and he is in pain, saying his "nummy hurts" and grabbing at himself. Daniel waited all yesterday at the Yun Da hospital for an ultrasound, the results of which revealed Brave's problematic lymph node is once again enlarged. This is probably causing his intestines to telescope, again, which is probably causing the pain, and backing up the waste. Our American pediatrician here in town recommended heading back to Bangkok. This time, the good doctors at Bumrungrad International might decide to remove that section of his intestines, so this stops happening. Intricate surgery on the intestines of a 2 1/2 year-old does not thrill me. To make matters worse, I couldn't tag along even if we had the money (which we don't) because Jubilee is still a Chinese citizen and even though Americans do not need visas to jaunt in and out of The Kingdom of Thailand (something about the king offering us a bunch of elephants to help us colonize the new world), Chinese citizens do. We will apply for a Thai visa for Jubilee on Monday, but it will take at least two days for it to turn around.

Fooey.

So Daniel and brave Brave left on a jet plane early this morning. Baby boy has an appointment with Dr. Sasithorn at 6:30 p.m. I will update when I know anything.

Your prayers are being solicited because this time he is having trouble peeing. That was not part of the equation last time, and urine retention is not a typical symptom of telescoping intestines (intussuception). American docs here are stumped. I am nervous. Thanks SO much for praying.

It is amazing how fast we change gears, in this case from, "G0D Almighty, give me the strength I need to endure another day of whining and teaching little ones to share" to, in an instant, "G0D Almighty, please let my precious little shaver be OK."

There is nothing, NOTHING more valuable on this earth than one's children. There is nothing that can scare the crap out of a girl faster than a baby with a health glitch.

I will keep you updated.

on a lighter note

2011-11-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

While we wait to hear from Xiao Fu (Daniel is back home with us, by the way, and has almost recovered from his emotional, exhausting mountain/mourning road trip), I decided to post some of the lighter, happier details of our life.

Jubilee's orphanage haircut is finally growing out. Is it just me, or are we getting a glimpse into the future here? She's a doll, that for sure.

I am excited to share that I have kept the "I birthed three babies in four years" weight off now for over a year! I never thought I'd say it, being the wannabe foodie that I am, but smaller portion sizes as a lifestyle really ain't that bad.

Bright, who is just 6 1/2 years old, is reading at a 5th grade reading level (I promise I'm not exaggerating), and he reads with better inflection than me. Zion, who is just 4 1/2 years old, is reading at a late kindergarten level. We've got a couple of real bookworms here at Cambridge Garden 3-2-1202.

Brave Ransom eats more than almost everybody at the dinner table...that's something, right?

My grandmother, pictured here with my mom, turns 80 this week. Happy Birthday, Grandma! I love you.

And Daniel is doing a bang-up job raising our little men. Here they are fixing the desk chair that pops a screw every time I sit in it (so much for feeling good about my weight).

While Xiao Fu grieves, and while Glory fights, and while Jubilee grapples, and while Daniel shares The News day-in and day-out, and while I train up the children in the way they should go, there is One who is sovereign over it all. It is His strength, in us, that keeps us keepin' on, and He is waiting for us on the other side of the finish line.

Tragedy and THE HELP

2011-10-31T02:07:00.000-07:00

Mostpeople like the book, “The Help,”and for good reason. It is a superb book. Though, I have to say, the whole thing hit a little too closeto home this weekend, as I frantically devoured it three nights ago, finishing upsometime in the wee hours of the morning. Daniel, meanwhile, was drivingthrough the night with our help, XiaoFu, and a hoard of her closest friends and family. Xiao Fu, who held my hair back when I waspregnant with Brave, who came with us to meet Jubilee, who brought her friendsto lay hands on every wall in our house when Zion was struggling, who makes mechicken noodles with cilantro and lemon when I’m sick – my dear Xiao Fu wailedhysterically on-and-off for the whole 9-hour trip back to her village. No one in the car dared ask her to stop. Her older brother had just fallen to hisdeath, after all.

Earlierthat day, I had heard an eerie howling sound coming from the other room. I dashed around the corner and saw Xiao Fu,who the kids call Ayi, collapsed into a heap on the floor of our mud room withher cell phone in hand. That eerie soundwas coming from her gaping mouth.

Icalled Daniel to come home right away, and then I fell to my knees beside her,trying to keep her from hurting herself while she thrashed and wailed. I asked Bright to bring us a pillow, which hedid with lightning speed.

“What’swrong with Ayi, Mama?” Bright asked when he returned with the pillow.

“Shejust received news that her big brother has died,”I said, which is what I waspiecing together. “He has fallen off amountain.”

Brightand Zion then went straight to work with the markers and construction paper,making sympathy cards. The first oneBright brought out was on a hot pink strip of cardstock and it read, in brownmarker, “Cher Up!”, with a heart drawn next to it. He laid it at the feet of his precious Ayi,who was lying in my arms, and then he went right back to the school room tomake more.

XiaoFu’s friend, who works in a foreigner’s home on the 4^th floor of ourbuilding, came pounding on the door. Ilet her in, and she fell down beside Xiao Fu, her yellow ruffled maid’s apronstill tied around her waist. She herselflost a brother in a tragic accident last year, and her tears were still fresh. I moved to the background then, sensing thatI was not a part of this moment. I amnot one of them, in my Chaco sandals and my sterling silver earrings, unable tospeak but a few stupid sentences in their language. I hung my head and began to pray.

WhenDaniel arrived, he dropped to the floor and wrapped his arms around hershoulders, like a brother would, while she beat her chest and cried, “Ge Ge Wo ai ni!!” (which means, “Big Brother, I love you”) Even though Daniel could have spoken to her, hedid not. His arms were still and strong,and she seemed to relax in them, just a little. I knelt a few feet away, praying and crying quietly, wishing this hadnot happened. Wishing her brother hadbeen sick this morning and stayed in bed, instead of going up the mountain withthe goats, like he had done thousands of times before.

Thiswas only the second tragic emergency of my lifetime. The first time was when I was a teenager, andI watched a maintenance man die of a heart attack, right before my eyes. I watched as the paramedics tried to revivehim, watched his skin turn blue, and then gray. I made a plaque in his honor out of plaster in art class the followingweek. His name was Erk.

Itdidn’t take long for it to become clear: Daniel would be driving Xiao Fu andher people to their village, 9 hours away. There is no train that goes there, and we are the only folks she knows withboth a vehicle and a driver’s license. It was 4 O’clock in the afternoon, and we would have to cancel dinnerfor friends we were planning to host that evening, but we knew Daniel had togo. When he offered, the people who sayno to everything the first two times, said yes right away. Their usual pride was gone. They needed the white guy in his green polarfleece, and they needed him right quick. Daniel had one hour to regroup, eat two tuna fish sandwiches, grab somebottled water and a toothbrush, and head out the door.

Thekids overheard me asking friends over the phone to pray, as the roads are notgood and the way is not lit. I felt badfor the kids. They were sad and worried.

“Youknow what, guys?” I said, suddenly realizing something. “We have no need to worry. Not only because G0D is going to protectDaddy and Ayi and the other mourners, but because if there is anybody in theworld that I would trust driving a bunch of people in a cheap van over mountainroads at night, it’s your daddy.” And Imeant it, too. One of the first times mycrush on Daniel really flared up, back in 2001, happened while watching theease and fluidity with which he backed a truck and trailer into a tight parking spot in downtown Memphis. Being an Arkansas country boy does come in handyfrom time to time.

Atsome point, I spilled grape juice all over my kitchen, which won’t get it’susual attention for weeks now that “the help” is 9 hours away andbroken into a million tiny pieces. I gotdown on my knees with a wet dishrag to wipe sticky purple spots from every inchof cabinetry, thinking about Xiao Fu thrashing around like a fish in the bottom of aboat. My heart was so heavy that I thought it might spillright out onto the juice stains. I justwished so badly that this had nothappened.

At2:48 a.m., I got a call from Daniel. They had made it to Xiao Fu's village, a cluster of mud structures high, high up in the cold mountains, where men wear furs and cows sleep in the living room. I hung up the phone and closed my eyes,“The Help” still by my pillow. I missed my husband, and I missed Xiao Fu,and I missed the illusion, which comes and goes in life, that everything isOK.

“L0RD,” I whispered, on my way to sleep, “help us.”

a little down and out

2011-10-25T18:30:00.000-07:00

Please pray that Glory will recover from this latest heart surgery, so she can go home and watch Curious George with her sister. We're ready for giant hair bow pictures, again! The recovery process this time has been slow, and she is uncomfortable, and we are all a bit concerned. Thank you, as always, for praying for our Glory Girl and her family.

taking the blame

2011-10-25T01:25:00.000-07:00

Jubi Sue is a great sleeper (a lot of that has to do with her medication, but anyway) and still there are nights when sleep escapes her. Sleep requires relaxation. Relaxation requires security. Security is taking hold in her bones, but the process is slow, like the setting of Jello.

The other night she was definitely not crying her "I don't feel like being in my bed" cry. She was crying her "Oh G0D have mercy on my unsettled heart" cry. I went racing into her room to hold her.

She kept pushing away from me, to get a good look at me. She kept touching my face and crying. I said, "Jubilee, are you seeing a time when Mommy was bye-bye?" (she knows the word "see" and she knows the word "bye-bye"). She howled out, "Yeeeeaaaahhhhh!"

"Oh sweetie," I said, "Mommy is sorry I was bye-bye."

"I fordib you, Mama" she said. We both cried then.

Here's the thing. When you adopt a child, you agree to take the blame for saying goodbye to her, even though all you ever did was say hello. She doesn't know how the story goes. She's barely out of diapers. All she knows is that there was a time when her mommy (me) wasn't there. She's right. I wasn't.

And I will gladly take the blame for that.

It's (not exactly) Autumn!

2011-10-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

I will be baking my first batch of pumpkin bread this week. I will be pulling out my tiny box of Fall decorations. I will be bagging up the kids' shorts. Fall is here. That's right, the year-round sunny and warm weather that our city is known for has turned...sunny and warm. We don't really get seasons here. But pumpkin bread will be baked, nonetheless.

Pictures from my Mom will have to suffice. Oh Michigan, the land of my youth, you are so perty this time a year.

*sigh*

need

2011-10-22T23:37:00.000-07:00

Neediness is a repellant. Everybody knows that, from a needy girlfriend getting dumped to a needy friend with a quiet telephone to a needy parent getting the cold shoulder from her teenager. Our tendency as human beings is to squirm free of the grip of a needy hand.

And then we come to the topic of toddler adoption, and suddenly "needy" is brought to a whole new level. We're talking shameless, unabashed, every second of every day need. There's no pride. She doesn't care who knows it. Its as if she would climb inside my ribcage if she could, and stay there, until the clouds part and CHRlST himself comes down to calm her nerves once and for all.

The problem is, I am not CHRlST himself, nor do I have his level of patience. I need my space, people! Its not like the constant sucking and crying of a newborn. That stuff is just physical, and even as it grates on you night and day, testing your mental skills, and piercing your ears and making your arms ache, your heart is pretty much left in tact.

Not so much now. My heart is torn at all times between wanting to be for her what she has never had, and needing to take care of myself (so I don't end up losing my mind). I want her to have what she needs, but I am just a person, and I can't be the medicine for her wound. Only G0D can be, and she is too young to know him.

So as the holidays roll in (which are always hard for me, anyway) please remember me in your prayers. I have a little girl with a lot of pain, but dinner still has to get cooked, and Brave still needs his mama after his nap, and Bright needs to learn how to voice his opinions respectfully, and Zion needs an audience for his puppet shows, and we need to be done with 1st grade by May. I'm going to need supernatural strength this winter, my friends.

And please pray for my precious Jubilee, that she will grow to be a woman with a spirit that soars like the eagles, on account of what she has overcome.

real life and a birthday

2011-10-21T07:41:00.000-07:00

Last night we celebrated Daniel's 32nd birthday, two days late. It was a great day, which was good, since two days earlier on his actual birthday we spent the day arguing over who's life was more miserable and who deserved to have a bad attitude more (you know the kind of day I'm talking about). Now, Daniel and I have learned to argue well, so we don't mind our kids being around when it happens. We figure they might learn a thing or two about real life. It was Jubilee's first time to see her parents working through a conflict, however, and she was a little nervous about it. The poor dear kept bringing us little toys, in an effort to distract us, wearing a very sheepish look on her face. We just scooped her up and covered her cheeks with kisses, letting her know that all was well.

And it truly was. People who really love each other are not afraid of a good argument. In the end, it was determined that neither one of us is miserable and neither one of us deserves to have a bad attitude. You could have told us that, right? I tell ya, selfishness is a pesky, if not terrible, thing.

Anyway, Daniel turning 32 was redeemed yesterday by a potroast and his favorite carrot cake, the hardest cake I make, and one that I have yet to turn out right in East Asia on account of hard-to-find ingredients, weird milk, small eggs, and high altitude. I've been tweaking it for three years now and yesterday I nailed it. I have a happy man in my house today, cutting himself slice after slice.

And for the record, my life could not be further from miserable, with the L0RD as my stronghold and Daniel Rupp as my husband. I have said it before and I'll say it a thousand more times, G0D smiled on me when he turned Daniel's eyes my way. Last night he said, to a whole group of friends, "My wife has one of the most beautiful lives I know." I melted. He wasn't referring to my circumstances, either, he was talking about me. Man, I love this guy.

And I love this picture. There's the cake, and there's Jubilee, looking like the cake just landed in front of her from outerspace, and there's Zion's two dimples, and if you look closely, you'll notice in the background how we've taped one of Jubi's orphanage pictures onto our blown-up family print. And there's the handsome B-day boy, of course, 32 years young. I really love this picture.

Happy Birthday, Baby! My love for you is as real as it gets.

the way home

2011-10-19T20:23:00.000-07:00

I have a friend named Korrie, who has fabulous taste in all things, includingfood (of course), and vintage clothing, and folk music, and rustic dinner plates, and men (we love you, too, Lee), and handkerchiefs, and children's books, and handwritten letters. She is one of those women who makes womanhoodlook good, you know the type? Not to mention I love her to death. Korrie is one of my all-time faves.

I may have posted this pic before, but I LOVE it. The funny thing is, I don't even know which of her daughters she is holding. Clementine, Korrie, am I right?

So...last year Korrie and Lee sent a care package thatnever got to us. She later told me that there were VINTAGE APRONS in thatbox. I think I almost cried. She probably did cry, considering the cost of shipping a box to East Asia. It was the only box, meant for us, that has ever gotten lost.

Last month, Korrie took a deep breath and triedagain. She waited and waited. She sent me several emails, wonderingif I had seen her package. I had not. We were both getting worried,thinking it too terrible for TWO of her heartfelt, heartsent packages to have gotten lost.

Last week she let me see the address she hasbeen using. OH NO! She had been using our first address in EastAsia. I never sent her our new one! (They don't use the forwarding system here) Oh, Korrie.

Thankfully, we know the girls who moved in to our old apartment. Before breaking the news to Korrie about the wrong address, I sent Daniel over to those girls. He knocked onthe door, but there was no reply. The gate keeper said that the foreigners who used to live there had moved to another building, just last month, and he took Daniel right to their door. They were home, and they had our package!

I danced a little jig when he came home and handed me that padded envelope. Oh thank you L0RD!

And now, Daniel has a new favorite T-shirt. It hails from the part of Kentucky that was the birthplace of our friendship, almost a decade ago. Niiiiiice find, Korrie!

And I have a new favorite top! The girl knows me.

And Brave really loves thebasil-scented Mrs. Meyer's aromatherapeutic cruelty-free dryer sheets, "uncomplicated products for a clean and happy home." I cannot wait to try them! They madeeverything in the package smell as good as Korrie looks;)

Jubilee took her dress very seriously. Anything that is solely hers makes her serious, like she must now become very responsible about this new thing. She loves it, Korrie, and it is a perfect fit!

I hope Korrie won't mind me sharing that, in her two-part, handwritten letter, shewrites of the small stinging pains of homesickness. Korrie andLee and their (now five) kiddos recently moved from their old Kentucky home to the suburbs/urbs of Shreveport, Louisiana, far away from the hills and horse pastures and stone fences of their homeland. They are among wonderful friends, and blessed with a great job for Lee, and a great community, but leaving home is never easy. I can certainly relate to that, especially this time of year, when my heart burns a little in my chest thinking of the rest of you enjoying colorful foliage and apple cider and hay wagons and tailgating, and your families.

So you see, there was something deeply sweetabout this package making its way into our hands. Across all the milesand through the hands of lots of shady postal workers and in spite of being posted to the wrong address (totally my fault), this package made its way, eventually,finally, and only a little bit battered - home.

And so will we, Korrie. One day, my lovely friend, so will we.

the pleasure is all mine

2011-10-17T00:36:00.000-07:00

Motherhood is a thankless job so far. Six years of the hardest work I have EVER done and hardly a word of thanks from the little darlings. They thank me for handing them a second Oreo cookie, but that is just good manners. My husband thanks me, from his heart, and often, but though his thanks are vital, he is not under my care.

Just when I feel that I can't take one more step, Bright Eugene hands me this.

I hang it on the door of the school room, and I am good to go for at least another six years.

trusting my Rotel to Pioneer Woman

2011-10-16T00:40:00.000-07:00

I guard the American items in my pantry with my life, including chocolate chips, canned green chilies, Hershey's cocoa, Kraft Mac-n-cheese packets, and shortening, to name just a few. Chief among these is always Rotel (diced tomatoes with green chilies, for you northerners). When a can of Rotel is opened around here, it is for a very good reason.

Yesterday I took a gamble on Pioneer Woman's "Frito Chili Pie" recipe, which calls for a can of Rotel. Ree Drummond has yet to let me down in the kitchen, so it wasn't too huge of a gamble (which is why I took it), but it still made me very nervous. I guess I was feeling trusting, or else my fall chili craving was just too beastly to tame. I went so far as to thaw a brick of REAL cheese, which I hoard in my freezer, and which costs about $11 a pound. This meal was either going to be a great success or a cause to mourn. We would find out which, come about 5:30 p.m.

The Fritos that are available for purchase at the import stores are incredibly expensive. I opted to skip the Fritos and scoop this very thick, very "Frito Chili Pie" chili over the best cornbread you'll ever eat. (Shout out to Anita for introducing me to this recipe 3 years ago). Light and sweet, it is almost like cake. Zion calls it "corncake."

CORNBREAD

1 cup flour
1 cup cornmeal
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
1 egg, beaten
1 cup sour cream
1/3 cup milk
1/4 cup melted butter

In a medium-sized bowl, combine first six ingredients. In a separate bowl, combine last four ingredients. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until moist. Spread in an 8 x 8 greased baking dish/pan. Bake at 400° for 20-25 minutes, or just until toothpick comes out clean.

The results of my risky Rotel move? DEE-LISH!!! Not your typical soup-chili. Very meaty (2 lbs of beef) with lots of great flavor from the 1/4 cup of cornflour thrown in during the last 20 minutes of simmering. The flavor was great, and the whole thing just worked so well ladled over our cornbread. I did have to up the salt, since I was skipping the Fritos, and I had to add water throughout the simmering to keep it from getting too pasty-thick, but otherwise I followed the recipe exactly (obeying the "more to taste" next to the Chili powder in the ingredient list).

Even little miss sunshine ate some, though she would have much preferred her usual rice with meat, vegetables, and fishy soy sauce.

Looks like I will be trusting Pioneer woman with my precious American ingredients again, maybe even with my Crisco!

not a caucasian toddler

2011-10-15T00:24:00.000-07:00

Jubilee is not Caucasian. There are many clues that lead me to this conclusion, other than her Chinese passport.
- Her English has an accent. "Car" is "kigh." "More" is "muoy." "Door" is "doy." Not your typical toddler twang.
- She has no rear end. Enough said there.
- She runs like a dis-jointed penguin being chased by a polar bear. It is adorable. No marathons for this girl, I'm afraid. I am not saying this is true of all Chinese people, of course. Not hardly. I'm merely saying that Jubilee is not exactly built for speed.
- When our family gets a headcold, she doesn't seem to suffer with pressure and pain like the rest of us. It all just comes pouring out. In fact (bear with me here), if you get a hold of something with a tissue, you can pull the whole cold right out of her face. It's fascinating, really. I'm no doctor, nor anthropologist, but my guess is the structure of her face and the position of her sinuses must cause this? Asian friends, does this happen to you? It really must be nice.
- Her skin has a year-round brown tone, always even and glowing. Now THAT would be nice!
- Her mouth is wide, with plenty of room for her teeth to sit sit-by-side. Again, jealous.
- She hates to swim. I am not so much noting a Chinese trait as much as I am noting the fact that white people really might just as well have webbed feet.

Though it might seem funny for me to be talking about my daughter's race, and comparing it to my own, this is a very common practice around here. They tell us we have big noses. Well, we do. They tell us we are fat. Many, many of us are. They aren't being cruel, they are just interested in these differences. Among their own race, they talk about what people-group a person is from, and how the different groups compare. When locals see Jubilee, they want to know where she is from. As soon as we tell them she is GuangDongRen, they say, "Ah, yes, she has the Cantonese nose." We just nod. We don't know the differences as well as they do. What we do know is that she aint no white, softball-playing Arkansan, nor is she a towering, volleyball-playing dutch girl from Holland, Michigan.

And that is just fine with us:)

something from nothing

2011-10-14T06:05:00.000-07:00

Bright and Zion both like to draw, but their styles are as different as their faces. Bright likes to recreate what he sees, and his recreations are very good! Zion, on the other hand, who has never liked to be told what to do or how to do it, likes to look at a blank sheet of paper (or napkin or whatever) and just let the pencil do its thing.

Here is a recent drawing by Zion. Let me tell you what you are looking at: a spaceship with two sets of landing gear, in case the ship gets flipped around while coming through the atmosphere; a tiger hiding behind rocks (probably because he is afraid of the landing spaceship); and the long rectangle across the top of the page is "space," filled with, from left, the Milky Way, a star, Saturn, the moon, and the sun.

Here is another Zion creation, doodled on a piece of scrap cardboard while in Hong Kong with Daniel earlier in the week. You are looking at a monster underwater, surrounded by a cloud of its own stink, a tuna, a clownfish, and a whitetipped shark who is protecting his smaller fish friends from the monster.

I can't wait to see what your creativity leads to, Zion! Hugs and kisses from Mama.

sweet suffering

2011-10-12T07:21:00.000-07:00

I was looking into the rugged face of my precious Brave this afternoon, during a moment alone that we shared in the sunshine, drinking water and eating Swedish Fish candies. I was thinking how sweet it was of the L0RD to give us two medical emergencies in one year, requiring two 5-day stays in a hospital room, just Brave and me. My baby boy and I did nothing but cuddle up to Discovery channel programs and eat hospital food until we fell asleep together on my cot, his IV line drip-dripping through the night . G0D knew we would need those memories come August, 2011, when baby boy would have to share my lap with baby girl. Those memories are a treasure to me.

As I sat with Brave today, chewing on my fourth Swedish Fish, it dawned on me that all of my most precious memories with my children are surrounding crises. The 2 months that Daniel and I spent fighting for Zion's peace of spirit (untold story, no more about that) served to knit our three hearts together in ways that would not otherwise have been possible. When Bright was four, we felt we were losing him every day that he spent at preschool. With a newborn in the house, we made the difficult decision to home school him. There was never a tougher or, you guessed it, sweeter time with Bright.

My favorite memories with Jubilee are the four nights at the hotel in GuangZhou, before we knew how to get her to sleep on her own. I spent all four of those nights propped up on a pillow with a warm little girl on my chest, one who was scared to death to be anywhere but right there, listening to my beating heart.

I think this is what the L0RD must feel, a smile creeping over his face, as he thinks back on the times spent in the darkness of crisis with me. Is that why he allows me to suffer sometimes? I don't know the answer to that popular theological question. No one does. But I am going to think about this the next time I am reduced to tears and flat on my face before his throne, knowing that he is not sitting up there with a straight back, his large hands resting one on each armrest. He is down on the throne room floor with me, making memories.

different hands

2011-10-11T08:48:00.000-07:00

Jubilee has been our daughter for 8 weeks now. I don't know if she remembers anything but us anymore, at least not most of the time. She rises happily in the morning and plays and eats and cuddles throughout the day like any toddler in a loving family. Sometimes, though, when I look at her, I can tell that she is remembering. When that happens, a dark cloud rolls in over her head and she weeps.

I used to think, during these times, that she was mourning the loss of her life at the orphanage, and maybe she was. Now, however, I can tell that she isn't. These tears seem to be coming from deeper within, and from farther back; from the street corner where she was left, perhaps, when she was only a week old.

I will never be able to fully understand my daughter. I know this. No matter the weariness and woes of my days on this earth, I will never know what her tender heart has known.

My mother and I, after all, have the same hands.

And yet, she and I share the very thing my mom and I share. It is hard to describe, is it not, you mothers of daughters? It is what Jubilee mourns the loss of when she weeps, what I miss on my birthday, what makes my mother take her mother upstate to the cancer center every few months for a checkup, and what bowls my friend Liz right over when she looks at Cadence.

It is what Jubilee and I have been given.

Having the same hands, it turns out, has nothing to do with it.

heads up

2011-10-10T05:48:00.000-07:00

What does Daddy do with his kiddos when he takes them away from mommy for an hour or so? Stand them underneath landing airplanes, of course. Duh.

picnic pics

2011-10-09T07:50:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow Daniel takes Zion to Hong Kong for his quarterly eyeglass prescription adjustment. Today, therefore, we really went all-out on the family togetherness.

Here are the best pics that were taken while at Hai Geng Park this evening, where we enjoyed a picnic dinner, a lovely sunset, and lots of space to run around ON the grass for a change.

IVs in the trees

2011-10-08T17:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took out a recipe and chuckled when I saw, in orange ink, "East Asia Friendly" scrolled across the top. When we first moved here (back when I thought this was just going to be a quick stay), I went through all of my standby recipes and tried them out. The ones that worked (i.e. ingredients were available and high altitude didn't affect them) were marked with an orange marker. The rest were stashed away in the back of my binder to be used for the rest of my life in America. I am beginning to wonder if I will ever make, "Boursin-Stuffed Baked Chicken Breasts" again.

*sigh*

My point is that we have been here a long time, and are planning to keep staying, evidenced by the fact that we are talking about getting a cat (I know, I know, but we can't be taking a dog up and down the elevator all day long to pee). We've been here so long that I forget to post cool East Asia posts because nothing much strikes me anymore. You, however, might be struck by a few things now and then, so here you are.

They really like their plant life. We are not allowed to walk on the grass. There are signs above the grass that read "The grass has life, please do not walk on it" (translation). Many of these signs are in close proximity to a billboard advertising a great place to "take care of your problem of pregnancy" (abortion), but that is beside the point.

In these pictures you can see how much they love their plants. This tree, which does not look at all sick to me, is being nursed back to health, with an IV!!! We see this ALL the time.

pretty in shoulder pads

2011-10-07T07:34:00.000-07:00

Because I'm on a roll with the womanhood sentiments, I will repost this picture that my mom posted to Facebook yesterday for my birthday. I had never seen this picture until yesterday. Wasn't my mom gorgeous? Too bad the only thing I inherited from her was her not-so-gorgeous feet. That and her arms, which I'm increasingly thankful for as I get older. That doll face, though, did not get passed on. What a pity.

Love you so much, Mom!

aged to "perfection"

2011-10-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

The other day a group of us sat around choosing the age we would stay forever, if we could. Some chose early 20's (myself included): newly married, great new job, no responsibilities after 5 p.m., no stretch marks. The rest chose the year that the last kid leaves the house. I almost chose that one. Peaceful dinners, fresh mornings, and time left to chase our (other) dreams.

One friend chose whatever year she is in. Darn. That was the right answer.

Today is my 31st birthday. I sniffled to my husband while the toddlers napped, "I had fun at McDonald's this morning, I really did, and I loved watching the kids feed the pigeons at the park, and our date last night was wonderful, and I had a lovely lunch out with Alisa and Anita today, its not that..."

"What is it, then?" he asked. Sensible question.

"Its just that, what I really want is for my big brother to take me out for pancakes at Jackie's Place. What I really want is to be sitting in Sue-Sue's living room eating her chili, followed by a huge piece of chocolate cake with boiled icing from Paul's Bakery. I just want my dad to make me his lemon chicken, and I want my mom and to make me one of her homemade birthday cards and hand it to me IN PERSON. I want to go home. Just for a day. Just for today. On my birthday."

The thing is, "home" is not just 7,000 miles away anymore. The things I remember about "home" are in another time, now, and that time is lost forever. Sue-Sue passed away over a year ago. Her living room sits empty and dark this fall. There is no one cooking chili in the kitchen. My parents' house has been sold. Jerry and Marcy now watch their news magazine programs from the sofas of their nice, tidy condominium. Time marches on, so they say; but it would seem that in my case, time carried off a whole lot of loot when it went.

And yet, with the passing of time comes treasures gained. Maturity and wisdom, for starters, along with a gradual mellowing, a settling of spirit, a tenderness, a knack for empathy, a greater measure of patience, a tendency toward sincerity, a quickness to forgive, and a longing for what is coming in the end. The things that burn-up my early-20s friends just don't do it for me anymore. I look to my friends in their 40s and think them the most beautiful women I've ever seen. A slightly curved back from years of holding children. Lines around the eyes and mouth from laughing at their husbands' corny jokes, from laughing with girlfriends they've known since grade school, from laughing with their moms over everything under the sun. Gray hairs around the temple from too many nights sitting up with feverish toddlers, or waiting on phones to ring, or burying parents who died too early. Ringlets gone limp, sweet voices worn thin; all these things the world tells us we should mask, put-off, deny, cover-up, dye, and moisturize. What a shame. There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the tell-tale signs of a life lived in honorable service to the business of womanhood.

Please remind me of that in 20 years, ok?

That said, I am now prepared to officially declare the age I would stay forever. 31. Why? Because I'm just old enough to look back at my 20's and say, "Wow, I've come a long way," and I'm just romantic enough to still think graying temples are beautiful. Like a good cheese, I am ready for the cracker. Like a good avacado, I am neither green and firm, nor spotty and mushy. I have just enough wisdom to do a few things right, and just enough energy to carry them out.

Right where I'm at, yep, that's where I'd stay. Eight little arms wrapping around my neck every day and one handsome guy sauntering in to steal a kiss while I stir the soup. I think I can safely say that it doesn't get a whole lot better than this.

My birthday date with D. Rupp. Masala chicken and Diet Cherry Coke. Mmmm.

good pizza, funny friends

2011-10-04T01:27:00.000-07:00

We get to hang out with some pretty wonderful (and hilarious) people over here. Jarred and Shelley are no exception.

Example of wonderful: the other night they invited us over for make-your-own-pizza and the kids were in pepperoni heaven. Bright tried really hard to make a dragon with his toppings. The amazing homemade sauce was a hit with the adults. We really love these people (and not just because of their pizza).

Example of hilarious: Jarred's blogpost (below) from a couple of Autumns ago. You will laugh out loud, I promise.

Wednesday, Nov 4, 2009
"AMERICAN WHITE WOMEN AND THE FALL SEASON" by Jarred Jung

I always thought that Spring was the season of love and romance, and maybe it is for animals, but I have discovered that when autumn arrives, it is as if every 20 something American white woman comes out of hibernation and is dancing in the clouds. It really makes no sense to me why they love autumn so much, but I know that they all get excited like sorority girls on bid day. This excitement generally is centered around the availability of seasonal consumer products. Here are some things I noticed they get excited for in the fall:

1. Scented candles- mostly those that smell like apples
2. Colored leaves- in the Summer, when it makes sense to be oustide, they complain about bugs and sweat and nature. But in the fall, they have no problem walking around picking dead rotting leaves to decorate your house with.
3. Cold weather- Women who usually complain about being cold suddenly love it when that cold is associated with the arrival of fall. Forget that this change of weather also brings about the flu virus, they get to wear sweaters!
4. Christmas- I love Christmas… in December. These women turn Advent into a 3 month event and Target takes full advantage.
5. Pumpkin Spice ______ (you fill in the blank). The thing I find the most intriguing, more than anything else, is young American white women’s obsession with pumpkin spiced everything. Candles, pies, lattes, fruit dip, toilet paper, beer. I am convinced that if McDonald’s could make a pumpkin spiced McRib, 20 something white women everywhere would leave their hummus, run to the Golden Arches, and there would be a national shortage on whatever animal product that thing is made of and Diet Coke fountain syrup. If you hear that some company is thinking of making a pumpkin spice variety of whatever product they sell, buy stock… and futures for that matter.

I recently married a 20 something American white woman, so my life is no longer immuned to the love of fall. We cannot buy canned pumpkin here in East Asia, nor can we get lattes, so I thought I would have a free pass on this gourd obsession. However, my wife lives very close to another 20 something American white woman who told her where she could buy a pumpkin and how she could mine said pumpkin for its precious pumpkin meat and proceed I guess to “spice” it for whatever fall delight she desires. These women are like South Carolinians in deer season! Thus, I received a text message from Shelley on Monday that said “can you come downstairs and help me carry the pumpkin upstairs. It is too heavy for me.” And this is what we ended up with:
Now it doesn’t look like a pumpkin you would carve for Halloween, but who cares about pagan holidays when your pumpkin yields this much precious pumpkin meat? And by the way, we paid about $1.75 for this [pumpkin] baby.

But in order to use the pumpkin meat for pumpkin spiced stuff, you first have to “roast” the pumpkin, which involves slapping it onto a baking sheet and putting it in the oven…
Our oven barely held the pumpkin. You literally just put it in the oven until the meat is soft, just like a baked potato. And come to think of it, this thing is about the same size as one of those baked potatoes at McAlister’s.

And the result… let’s just say its a good thing they don’t sell Eggos here because our freezer now[is packed]…with bags and bags of frozen pumpkin. Whoever is going to eat this much pie is beyond me, and the idea of putting that in your 4 dollar coffee is gross, but to my wife, it is downright delicious. One piece of advice I received from my old man before I was married that I have always strived to keep since being married: happy wife, happy life, and nothing says lovin to a 20 something American white woman like 20 pounds of fall obsession.

for more go to: http://jarredandshelley.blogspot.com/2009/11/american-white-women-and-fall-season.html

where have I been?

2011-10-03T01:32:00.001-07:00

I was tucking her in. Same routine: wash and dry her body; rub lotion into her lesion; cradle her to pour 2 ml of Propranolol down her throat; say "hi" to the three princesses on her pull-up before she slips her dark, pretty feet into the leg holes, first her right, then her left; put on the same footed pajamas, stopping the zipper halfway up to let her finish the job; hold her in the bright teal chair to read Pooh's 123 and A Little Girl's Prayer; pray for everyone in our family, ending with herself.

Until tonight, she had never said her own name. When her perfect little mouth garbled, "Boob-uh-leeee," that was my first clue that tonight was different.

She switched off the light. She knows that word, "off." I switch on the noise machine and the wall fan. That's her cue to lay her head on my shoulder for our slow walk across the short room in the almost-dark to her crib, while I sing ABCDEFG. She lifts her head and we look at the two songbird decals on the back wall. We chirp to them. I lay her head on her pillow, cover her with the blanket that her daddy brought back from America for her last fall, and the blanket that her grandmother knitted for her last spring - a grandmother she has never met.

Then, as I am leaned in, and between kisses on the flat space between her black eyes, I catch a look on her face in the almost-dark. It is a look I have never seen before. She is as surprised by what she is feeling as I am: she loves me.

In the next second, the look changes, and suddenly I am breaking into a million pieces. The look says, "Where have you been all my life?"

I want to answer. I want to tell her that I would have been there if I could have. I want to wipe the confusion and hurt from her beautiful face. But she is only two-years-old, and she just now knows the word, "off." I think that perhaps, "The world is a broken place, darling, and the best we can do (for now) is make something wonderful from the pieces," is a bit too advanced for her at this point.

So I kiss her again and walk out of her room, choosing to focus on the thousand little fireworks going off in my heart. A broken world this may be, but seven weeks after they are introduced, a daughter loves her mother. Something wonderful, indeed.

recovering

2011-10-02T06:18:00.000-07:00

The toughest little girl in the world.

Joff!

2011-10-01T03:49:00.001-07:00

In keeping with my deviation from Jubilee posts, and in order to prove that I have balance in my life, I will feature Bright Eugene today.

He reads Isaac Newton while sitting on the toilet. He fasts through lunch nearly once a week. This, by the way, gets tricky when we're at the playground and Bright is lying on a park bench sipping water. "He's not sick," I assure the other moms, "he's just fasting." He lays hands on his little sister in the doctor's office. He makes up his own expletives to express his emotions, such as "Joff!" (used to express frustration or disappointment). He recently learned about divorce, and has decided that a man's second wife should be called a "step wife." Why not? He needs a haircut (as evidenced by this picture) but his mother doesn't have time for that these days. He won't give up his mesh shorts for the season, so his legs are constantly goose-bumped. He still picks his nose in front of girls. We're working on that. He bakes a mean batch of banana muffins. His free-hand drawing is suddenly quite impressive. He knows more about most things than I do, and I get sad when I haven't seen his moonlight-pale face in over an hour. Bright Eyes, you are quite a guy.

"The Heart" has a brain, too

2011-09-30T04:07:00.000-07:00

We like to kid around that G0D gave us one child of every flavor: The Brains, The Heart, The Braun, and The Beauty. It is not that cut-and-dry, though, of course. For example, The Heart, pictured here at our school table, has a pretty darn good brain. He just turned four in May, and is reading at a late kindergarten level. He does his big brother's math when we're not looking. He reasons like a kid twice his age. Don't be fooled by his charm and his sentiment; he is thinking way harder than anyone knows. He might look like he is standing off to the side chewing his nails, but he is taking it all in. Between his way with people and his sharp mind, I predict politics, or business, or perhaps the leader of a world-wide movement of change? For now, however, we'll continue to type-cast him as "The Heart." Its easier that way.

p.s. Glory's surgery went well! Praise G0D.

sugar buzz ramblings

2011-09-29T08:03:00.000-07:00

It is 10:35 p.m. on Thursday in East Asia. Glory is in surgery in Little Rock. Daniel is perusing the town with his buddies. I told him to go, so he wouldn't hear all of the intimate things we ladies sat and talked about over frosted brownies in my living room this evening.

I shamelessly ate two of my own brownies. Is it terrible to like your own baking? Aren't we supposed to be too self-critical for that? Maybe its a sign that I'm moving past self-criticism. Maybe that happens in your 30s? Or maybe I just really like chocolate and it matters not how I get it. Or both.

I just have to say that I LOVED our Women's Time tonight. We meet ever-other Thursday evening, and it really is time invaluably spent. Tonight, however, was sweeter than I'm used to. A new woman has joined our ranks, and we are thrilled because she is 60 and knows about life beyond raising gradeschoolers. My pen was racing across the back of my printout as I scratched down nearly everything she had to say. There is nothing like the wisdom of those who have lived longer than we have. Not to mention she is an adoptive mother of two kids who came to her from Russia in 1996 and were nearly teenagers at the time. This woman has been through it, and has lived to tell about it. Somehow I feel like I'm going to make it, too.

I am looking at the back of my printout right now, and I will share the top three tidbits from the evening (not necessarily from our new friend, but mostly spurred on by her presence, I think).
1.) PROBLEM: We (moms of young children) feel like we've lost ourselves. Where did I go and who is this bedraggled, used-up, butt-wiper staring back at me from the mirror? Why don't I get to go out every day like my husband and feel the cool breeze lift my hair? ANSWER: Perspective. Choose to say, "Thank you, G0D, that I GET to stay home with these kids! What a privilege.
2.) PROBLEM: I find myself stooping to their (the kids') level. ANSWER: I am a woman, and women are gifted with empathy. In this case, it is a bad thing. I am taking on the anger of my four-year-old. Wow! How enlightening is that?!

Snapshot just taken: ready for surgery. xoxo

3.) PROBLEM: One of my children needs a heart-issue addressed, but I am changing an explosive diarrhea or I am baking brownies for Women's Time (hopefully not simultaneously). ANSWER: Carry a notebook around in my pocket and write down whatever needs to be addressed so that I can come back to it with that child at a better time.

Well, now that my sugar-buzz is wearing off, and Daniel seems to have found something really fun to do out there in the streets of our fair city, I think I'll go check the progress of Glory's operation on her Facebook page and then wash my face and climb into bed to read another chapter of THE HELP (thanks again, Lance and Leah) until my eyelids get too heavy and then I'll pray for Glory and go to sleep. I hope that when I do, I'll be thinking about the 4th tidbit I would have shared if I would have shared 4: G0D is faithful, and he has never, nor will he ever, take his hand of guidance from me. Amen and good night.

today!

2011-09-28T22:47:00.000-07:00

The surgery has been moved up to today! At 7 a.m. Thursday morning, September 29, and for the rest of the day, please be praying. Glory will be undergoing open heart surgery.

"When I said, 'My foot is slipping,' your love, O L0RD, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul." -Psalm 94:18,19

to carry on

2011-09-27T06:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends and Family,

Glory is in the hospital, after having been at home for some months with her lively, dinosaur-loving sister; her awesome mommy and daddy; and her grandma-extraordinaire. She had a heart cath done recently to check the progress on that one stubborn artery (the one we are all waiting on to grow so she can have her next big heart surgery), and the cath yielded disappointing results. The stubborn artery is not growing like it needs to be, so there can be no surgery for now. The waiting commences.

In the mean time, however, the doctors are going to perform a different surgery, in an attempt to give that artery every advantage to grow. That surgery will be in a couple of weeks. It will be a hard surgery for Glory, and it will not be "the one" that she desperately needs. She can not go home now. She will remain in the hospital until the surgery, because her oxygen is too low. Her heart is trying its best, but she only has half of it, you remember, and it has been operated on several times. Everything hinges now on the growth of that artery, and the fighting spirit of our precious Glory Girl, and the will of G0D.

Please pray.

Also remember Glory's family in your prayers, especially her mommy, my all-star sis-in-law, Kerry. I will never understand what she has been through, and continues to go through. Those of us moms who worry about our kid's stuffy noses (that includes me) need to be carrying Kerry right now. She needs to carry on, and sometimes, carrying on is not all that easy to do.

For His Glory,
Kayla

a Rupp day off

2011-09-26T03:24:00.000-07:00

Monday is Daddy's day off. You would think that one more adult in the house would mean less stress for everyone. On the contrary. It simply amounts to one more stressed-out adult. Therefore, on Mondays, to keep from going crazy in our tiny apartment, we pile into our mian bao che and drive to places like this:

Pick your battles, so they say. Today I let Zion wear dragon pajamas to lunch. Is it clear how many battles I am fighting?


Questionable, at best. We've gotten to where we hardly notice this stuff anymore.

to play games,

and eat pizza with "pepperoni" and Chinese peppers,

and dance (be forewarned, you might get jealous of my dance moves).

no apologies

2011-09-24T22:59:00.000-07:00

I would apologize (to you and to my boys) for all of the Jubilee posts these days, but I missed two whole years of her life so I think my behavior is completely justified. Not only that, but I am certain that the boys will understand, when they are old enough to care two hoots about their mother's silly blog.

*a smile and a wink*

So here is another pic I had to post, because even though it is fuzzy and makes her look like she is plugged into the wall, she just looks so darn Chinese! I love it!

Thank you for giving!

2011-09-23T06:42:00.000-07:00

Though we've not yet met our goal, I couldn't wait any longer to say a big "Thank you!" to all of you who have given to our Lifesong grant so far. We are that much closer to wrapping up the financial side of Jubilee's adoption. We are SO thankful that you felt moved to give on behalf of this amazing child. We have your names and will be sending each of you a personal message (on a card which was handmade by a deaf Chinese woman), but please except this general extension of gratitude in the mean time. May you be blessed as you peek in our blog over the years and watch our little girl (who you helped bring home) become the woman G0D intended her to be.

For now, she is a giggling 26-month-old who loves music, routine, kissing and hugging, Nerf guns, salmon cereal, her mommy's Coke Zero, folding and putting things away, Band-Aids, and her family. We feel so honored that G0D has chosen us to be her mommy and daddy!

my little heroes

2011-09-22T07:39:00.000-07:00

We climbed a mountain last weekend. Our three little dudes skipped all the way to the "summit" and looked out over the city that we call home. Bright, the walking dictionary; Zion, the walking heart; and Brave, the tank in a diaper. He looks so strange in a diaper, since he is as big as his four-year-old brother, but we aren't about to go there right now. Best to leave well-enough alone.

I just can't say it enough: I am so proud of my sons. The way that they have embraced their new sister, and the way that they have obeyed their frazzled mommy, and heeded the wisdom of their daddy - I have truly been blown away.

I love you to the ends of the earth and back, my precious sons, the wonderful Rupp Brothers Three.

like the lyrics to that Turtles song

2011-09-20T16:28:00.000-07:00

Me and you,
And you and me

No matter how they tossed the dice,
It had to be
The only one for me is you
And you for me
So happy together.

p.s. The overalls she is wearing in the first pic barely fit her, but I just had to squeeze her into them; I bought them before I ever had children, in case I should have a girl one day.

Daniel Rupp has a daughter

2011-09-19T17:29:00.000-07:00

He freezes up with terror when he thinks she's gotten away from us in a crowd. He never does that with our sons. I guess he figures they can fend for themselves already (you know, all the Jiu-Jitsu he's taught them and all).

He worries if stains are going to come out of her clothes. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't care if the boys were even wearing any clothes.

He worries if the glue is going to come out of her hair. "Please don't say we're going to have to buzz it!!" he says. I grab the shampoo right away and gently assure him.

A twinkle comes into his eyes when he looks at her. I hate to use cliche, but twinkle is the only word that fits.

He tries to hide his disappointment when he gets home from a really long work day and she doesn't reciprocate his affections immediately. Like any great daddy, though, he keeps pursuing her, ever so sweetly, until her heart-melting smile transforms her face into a thousand creases and dimples; until her long, fine eyelashes, like two Chinese fans, are the only things left protruding.

Yes, its true. Daniel Rupp has a daughter.

Don't worry, though, the world is still spinning in the same direction: he'll still brag on how many manchildren his loins were able to bring forth. Some things never change.

And to further boost his machismo factor, here's a blast from the past. Somewhere around '02-'03, cave-crawling with Clay Newcomb.

spicy!

2011-09-19T00:21:00.000-07:00

the cute card

2011-09-18T00:06:00.000-07:00

When she shouts, "NO!" at me, or runs off in the buff after going potty instead of stepping into her panties, she warrants a stern look, at best, and a little sting on the knuckles at worst (the orphanage disciplined her in preparation for family-life, and I could kiss them right on the mouth for it). In an attempt to put a smile back on my face in such circumstances, she plays peek-a-boo. I usually don't back down. Cuteness is nothing new to our house.

And yet, there are times when even Kayla Rupp puts aside the Dr. Dobson techniques and just gets out the camera. I can't help it, people!

woe is me

2011-09-16T23:47:00.000-07:00

There are seasons in life that strip us of everything we've ever used to cope, exposing all of our un-dealt-with junk, and we find ourselves crying for no apparent reason (female) or flying off the handle at everyone in our path (male).

This isn't one of those seasons for me. I've been there, done that. When I flew across the world by myself at 19 to hike the Australian outback, for example. The wallabees must have thought me nuts, as I sat in the crags of the rocks with my journal and wept like a child.

The first six months of my life here in East Asia were another example. Take away my superstores and my drivers license and my ability to communicate, and give me the runs and a jetlagging baby and mountain altitudes at which none of my previous baking recipes could be followed, and I could again be found curled up in fetal position with a journal, blubbering all over myself.

There are more examples, but I won't go on and on. Enough such seasons have passed in my almost-31 years of life that I am pretty sure there is nothing left in my deepest parts but a very strong desire to see JE$US face-to-face.

No, this is something different. The tears are here. The fetal position is here. The journal is here (only now they call it a "blog"). This time, however, the "no apparent reason" does not apply. I struggle now because my life is unquestionably, verifiably non-doable.

Will it change? Will this pass? Oh yes, of course so. I know this. And yet, when I look at the clock and it is 9:47 a.m. and I am already done. Had it. Nothing left for the day. Yikes. That ain't good.

So I just let myself cry. I let the Heddens take my boys for the afternoon. I eat Nutter Butters from Betsy and Alex (something I can afford to do leisurely at this point because I am burning more calories mothering right now than I did during college soccer season). I pray like my life depends on it. Oh wait, it does. I remember that G0D has never, ever, ever let me down. I thank him for my precious, unbelievable children and husband; particularly, at this point, my daughter, who is more-or-less knocking me over with her beautiful heart as I fall daily more in love with her. I write all of this out in a blog post called "woe is me" and anyone who reads it thinks, "geesh, I'm glad I'm not her."

And I take Mandy's advice;)

And time will pass. Two-year-olds will become three-year-olds and "newly adopted" will become my long-standing daughter and there will be laughter again in my heart. And if none of that should ever come to pass (which of course it will), I am redeemed by the blood of the lamb and sealed for an eternity of serenity and joy.

Ok, time for a shower.

I scream, you scream

2011-09-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

love is learned

2011-09-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

When I had my second child in 2007, I asked my mentor and dear, dear friend Allison HOW she got two teenagers who naturally get along. She said, point blank, "They don't. I have never allowed them not to."

I had never considered that before. Not giving one's children the option of not getting along. Not allowing a moment of strife to go unresolved. Not allowing eye-rolling and huffy tones. Reminding the children all day, every day, that they love each other, and that they are to strive to love each other, in all things, at all times. My boys are tough roughnecks, but they can be seen sharing their feelings with each other on the rug, apologizing, forgiving, hugging and kissing.

Giving and receiving love is learned, and I am this subject's greatest pupil. You can ask Daniel and the kids. I am right there with them on the rug.

So, among many, many other things (like we don't pull all the DVDs out of the DVD book and scatter them all over the living room), we are teaching our precious Jubilee to love her brothers, particularly Brave. It is clear that this is a brand new concept for her. I'm pretty sure she never before saw other children as anything but a threat. It takes a lot of hands-on diligence on my part, assuring her and encouraging her and modeling love for her, but she is catching on.

Jubilee is learning to love and be loved. Welcome to the hardest class you'll ever take, my sweet little girl. My prayer is that these lessons will lead you to the great, faithful arms of True Love himself.

working with construction (paper)

2011-09-14T01:13:00.000-07:00

As it turns out, one does not need peace and quiet to cut and configure toilet-paper-stuffed prehistoric sea life. So, while the demolition next door continues to rattle our brains, we are building an ancient aquarium, of sorts. Most boys like dinos, I understand that, but my boys like dinosaurs' tiny, underwater counterparts. Bright reads everything, and I do mean everything, and then teaches all of us about what he reads; then we build replicas.

Meet "Terry" our pet pterygotus.

Meet "Armlots" our pet michelinoceras.


Meet "Max" our ammonite.

On a side note, can you tell that this is Bright's favorite shirt these days? I am letting him dress himself now, and since we rarely leave our address, it doesn't much matter what he wears. I told him the other day that we should try to match our tops with our bottoms, if possible. He asked why. I said that it's important to look like we care about ourselves. He said, "Mom, the B1BLE tells us we should hate our lives." Grrrrr. Don't teach your kids to read too early. Seriously.

Would you help us adopt Jubilee?

2011-09-12T03:12:00.000-07:00

Hi, it's Daniel. A lot of people ask me, "Where did you guys get the money to adopt?" It's a good question. The average Chinese adoption costs more than $30,000. That's a lot of money and certainly not the kind of cash we have sitting around. We keep (or I should say "used to keep") a six thousand dollar emergency fund on hand. That's been spent plus some. We borrowed five thousand from our parents in a pinch (they're good sports). We were awarded a matching grant early on that some of you gave to, which ended up blessing us with about eight thousand dollars. We're working on tax credits, a health insurance kick back, and I met a student the other day who could possibly help me sell my kidney on the black market. I'm not kidding. Though I'm also hoping it doesn't come to that.

Basically, we didn't do this because we had the cash on hand. We did it because she needed a Momma to put a pink bow in her hair. When her musical-wind-up-tea-pot stopped working this afternoon, she needed a Daddy to fix it. She needed a home. And while we may not have a lot of cash, we've got one of those.

What we'd like you to consider is helping us with the cash part. LifeSong for Orphans is a non-profit organization under the umbrella of Family Christian Stores. They've blessed us with a $3,000 matching grant. Which means that anything we raise up to that amount, by November 20th, will be doubled by them! It's a HUGE blessing, and if the tax credit works out the way we're hoping, this $6,000 would cover almost all of our remaining expenses surrounding the adoption.

Would you help us adopt Jubilee? You can Click Here, or on the link that we've put on our side bar, to give. It takes you to LifeSong's giving page. All gifts are tax deductible and every penny goes to us. You can give in just about any form you'd like, just be sure you specify that you are giving to "Daniel and Kayla Rupp's adoption." THANKS guys. Really.

Bye, Bye Mary Poppins

2011-09-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

The Bib1e tells us that the fatherless have a special place in G0D's heart. He crafts them with great care. He brings them into this big world. His eyes never leave them. His angels surround them. He puts a yearning in the hearts of nothing-special-people like Kayla and Daniel Rupp to run after one of these children, in the craziest season of their lives, taking the most precious little girl in all the world as their very own. He gives that child a new name, Jubilee Sue, and The Rupps become a family of six with a little red book to prove it.

It's all sunshine and roses after that, right? Uh, no. Tears and fears mark their early days together. The whole group clings to G0D and each other, the six of them learning to trust like they never have before. It is a painful process. The old (in all of us) has to die so that the new (for all of us) can be born. For this kind of birth, however, there is no available epidural. The whole family feels every single thing.

Tomorrow marks four weeks since the day we first held our beloved Jubi Sue. These days she is no longer grieving. The only thing that makes her cry now is being smothered by her big-hearted, rhinoceros of a "twin" brother (she'll appreciate your awesome girth someday, Brave, especially in college when some ogre from psychology class can't take a hint).

I make her cry, too, every now and then. Gasp! I know, I know, adoptive mothers are supposed to be perfect. Well, we're not. We're just like everybody else. Right now, at least, it really gets me when I fail her. It's like I feel responsible for making the next 16 years of her life blissful, in order to make up for the way she had to spend her first 2. Talk about having too high of expectations!

I'm pretty sure Jubilee thought she had been adopted by Mary Poppins at first. I tip-toed around her with a goofy smile plastered to my freaked-out face. Not anymore. Mary Poppins has packed her leather handbag and left, leaving sweet Jubilee to be raised by regular ol' me. Daniel reminded me again today that she doesn't need a perfect mother, any more than our boys do. She needs a real mother, a forever mother, a through-thick-and-thin mother.

That's me, sweetheart. Real, forever; thick sometimes, and thin others. I'm going to look at you crossly. I'm going to lose my cool. I'm going to need your grace and forgiveness over the years. But you know what? That's what makes us a family. Daniel, Kayla, Bright, Zion, Brave, and Jubilee. Family.

Forever and always.

looking ahead

2011-09-09T23:51:00.000-07:00

Is it a crime to look to the future with a longing that could walk around on its own if you put shoes on it? If so, then I am going to prison. For a long time. I might actually welcome prison at this point. Three squares a day (that I don't have to cook), time to work toward a masters degree, and nobody needing me to wipe their butt.

Daniel and I have started dreaming about our golden years. I am most looking forward to the quiet mornings. He is most looking forward to sleep. We talk about the big salads we will eat for dinner, and the long walks we will take, and the weekends with the grandkids. We talk about nights that won't end with me crying into my pillow, anticipating 7 a.m. the next morning.

Kids, if you're reading this years from now, please know that you were desperately loved. In fact, our love for you is the reason we are so exhausted right now. We are putting everything we've got into this business of raising you. These are the most important and precious days we will ever live.

And yet, we will be a tiny bit happy to see them go.

we know the drill

2011-09-09T15:52:00.000-07:00

As if the whining in two languages from two two-year-olds every two minutes from dawn until dusk was not enough noise for my ears, the folks who own the apartment beside ours have decided to begin renovating.

Let me brief you on how renovations go in this country (because we've been through this before). The construction is 100% concrete, which means the slightest change in decor requires a concrete drill. What does a concrete drill being used for 10 straight hours sound like? Imagine that someone recorded a thousand monkeys screaming, then played it back to you at volumes beyond description - add in some feedback - and then put the whole thing on the other side of your newly-adopted toddler's bedroom. This is the soundtrack of our lives, until the (currently gutted) apartment is sparkling with new fixtures and tiny tilework and built-in storage units. In other words, we're looking at 4 months minimum of face-splitting sound.

By the way, teaching home school is a bit challenging when your pupils can't hear what you are saying. Home school is even more challenging when toddlers can't take their afternoon naps. Only my grandpa, after Thanksgiving dinner, could have slept through noise like this.

So we are looking at a semester of nothing getting accomplished, no one getting any sleep, and nothing that can be done about it. Whatsoever. Except, as I mentioned to Daniel earlier today, asking for a transfer to the African bush (the furthest place I could think of from concrete and its correlating equipment). I don't think he is game for starting from scratch on the language-learning front, and I don't like mosquitoes, so I guess we are staying put.

Yes, I have been overstating, but I feel a little better now. A little. I guess we will get school done each day, somehow, and I guess the toddlers will adjust to sleeping through WWIII, and one day in the freezing middle of winter, the sound will stop and that will be that. Until then, please don't call me during the day. I won't be able to hear a word you're saying.

And for a little perspective, here's my precious family. Ok, so I guess I have nothing to complain about.

as we go

2011-09-05T23:29:00.000-07:00

Every so often I find myself alone in the kids’ room.  The wind picks up and blows around the large, gray curtains, gracing my weary face, and I stand up from my task of tidying and look around me.  

An alarm clock sits ticking beside the fishbowl, its reflection distorted in the glass.  Impromptu artwork is pasted on the window, made from green construction paper that has faded heavily in the sun.  A blown-up photograph of the three boys, on the day that Brave was born, hangs cock-eyed in its frame above the futon in the corner.  The three-sleeper bunk bed stands empty, haphazardly made up, with stickers on it, and black-and-white copies of the face of CHR1ST, taped above their pillows, to ward off night fears when the city sounds start whistling in the dark.

Yesterday it occurred to me that one cannot design a child's bedroom.  It designs itself, over the years, playing off of the needs of the child, of the things they like to look at, and the way they live their little lives.  In the same way, one cannot prepare to parent their children.  We learn as we go.  If someone had plopped me into one of my present days say, 8 years ago, I would have died before lunchtime.  My life as their mom has evolved, like their bedroom; and like their bedroom, I need to stop every now and then and admire it, faded and haphazard as it may be. 

reaching our handsome Brave Ransom

2011-09-05T00:24:00.000-07:00

Brad Pitt has met his match.

Because Brave is such a stronghearted little guy, with resilience to spare, we've assumed things to be hunky dory on his part, in these early weeks of the adoption.

Then yesterday we took a video of Jubi Sue learning English (which she is doing very rapidly), and it wasn't until the third time viewing it that I noticed Brave jumping around in the background of the video, pointing to his nose and pointing to his eyes and pointing to his mouth. I don't know what was sadder, the fact that he was cheering for himself because no one else was, or the fact that I didn't even notice he was back there.

By the time I realized this horribly sad thing, Brave was already in bed. I shared this with Daniel, and we prayed for him immediately, my mothers-heart telling me that he had been affected by the attention Jubilee had been getting. It wasn't a few minutes later that we heard him crying from his bed (something he never does) and we rushed in to get him. We brought him to our room and tried to talk to him, but he wasn't awake. We have found our toddler sons in this state several times: not awake, not asleep, eyes moving around the room, not looking at anything in particular, bodies limp, mouth loose and drooling, whimpering slightly.

I decided a little brainwashing/hypnotic therapy was in order, seeing this as an opportunity for healing that G0D had provided in a direct answer to prayer. (Stick with me, I know this might sound a little hokey). We started by telling him we were proud of him, just like we were proud of Jubilee. Instantly his not-awake face turned down into a deep pout and big crocodile tears rolled down his cheeks. I realized he could hear and understand me perfectly. So I took his limp hand and role-played/dream-played with him, saying, "Brave, where's your nose?" and then touched his nose with his limp hand and then cheered, "Yay, good job, Brave!" The more I did this, I noticed a strange, dreamy smile come across his face. I knew his heart was healing right before our eyes.

Either that or he had had a stroke in his bed and we were looking at the first night of the rest of our lives.

Thankfully, the former turned out to be true. He woke this morning more confident and happy than I have ever seen him.

What have I learned from this? That Brave is suffering and we should feel guilty? That I should have been a hypnotist? No. I've been reminded that G0D is completely faithful, and can be trusted to care for the deep, tucked away parts of our childrens' hearts; and that prayer is smokin' powerful and we should do it more often.

studies in Jubilee

2011-09-04T01:17:00.000-07:00

She snuggles with me. Every night when I sing to her beside her crib (poor thing, I am a terrible singer), she curls her petite frame over my shoulder, just like any 2-year-old would do with her mom.

Her mom, that's me. The buck stops here. I am her mom, like I am Bright, Zion, and Brave's mom.

I study her when I'm holding her, in an attempt, I think, to make up for lost time. She has a small brown birthmark on her left calf. It kind of looks like she was splashed with mud. When she smiles, a crescent-shaped dimple appears beneath her cheek on her left side. Her feet are wide and long, with offset pinky toes and nails like discs. Her feet flap when she runs. She swaggers when she walks, which I contribute to her flexible joints. You could tie that girl in a knot. She has a raspy laugh. Her fingers are nimble and controlled. Her eyes are knowing. Her hemangioma (large, blood-filled tumor on her chest, shoulder, and armpit) was daunting at first, but it wasn't long before I was washing it and drying it like I would clean behind her ears. A small part of me will be sad when it is gone. The first act of trust between us was when I rubbed lotion on it that first night. I took off her dress and she looked at me like, "What do you think of me now?" I scooped her up and held her close, hoping that she could understand my answer.

all our expectations

2011-09-02T23:15:00.000-07:00

When we decided to adopt, and over the course of the year-and-a-half that it took to bring our daughter home, we acquired some expectations of what this whole thing might look like.

We expected that she would not feel as pretty as other girls because of her special need.

We expected the boys to withdraw into a depressed and confused mess.

We expected her to sit in a corner and rock back and forth in fetal position for a few months.

We expected the boys to be jealous and bitter toward her.

As always, the L0RD far, far, far exceeded all our expectations.

They're a lot of work, but they're cute!

2011-08-31T23:08:00.000-07:00

A groove, of sorts

2011-08-30T23:30:00.000-07:00

I get up 10 minutes before the rest of the family, to pull on clothes and read a Psalm and wash my face. Then I start with Jubilee, who wakes us yelling something in Cantonese. I turn on her light and she reaches for me with a big smile. I take her to the potty, fill her Dora sippy cup with milk, and then carry her into the boys' room. I am greeted with a soaked Brave, a bouncing Zion, and a sleepy Bright who wishes his siblings would let him sleep a little longer. I change Brave's diaper, let the big boys pick out their own clothes, and make my way to the kitchen to make a lot of oatmeal. Jubilee will eat oatmeal now, so I no longer have to make her a separate breakfast of fried noodles with salted pork.

By 8 we are done with breakfast, and from then on the clock seems to stop. The four hours between breakfast and lunch seem like four months. Play-doh gets us through 30 minutes. Hide and seek eats up 15 minutes. Music and dancing another 15 minutes. On top of the usual challenges of having four kids underfoot at once, I am teaching Jubilee English, teaching her to trust me, teaching her what love is and that I feel it for her very much, teaching Brave that I am Jubilee's mommy, too. I am teaching Jubilee what "No no" means, and that a child needs to obey her mama. I am teaching Jubilee what a mama is. By 10 a.m. my ankles ache, my head is spinning, and I am starving. I shove some kind of cold food into my mouth, preferably high in protein and/or sugar (a banana and a leftover chicken breast work well, especially together).

Lunchtime is a frenzy. Brave tests my authority every five minutes, typical for his 26 months of age. This battle of wills makes Jubilee nervous. She wants to go to the potty when she's nervous, so after every showdown with Brave I have to unbuckle Jubilee and take her to the potty where she dribbles into the toilet and then wants back up to her seat to eat more of her lunch. Bright, who has never learned to eat on his own, has to be reminded to take every bite. Zion sits in front of his untouched plate, picking his toes. At least he's quiet. I think I eat something, sometimes. I'm not quiet sure. I'm doing good to be dressed by this point.

From 12:30 to 1:30 I do everything I can to keep the tired kids calm. Books. Movie. Whatever works. At 1:30 the toddlers go down for their naps, and the big kids and I collapse in the school room for downtime (for now) and lessons (later).

From 3:30 to 5 we go outside and "play" and then come back up to our apartment for some kind of dinner (see frenzied lunch description above).

So there you have it, our little groove, of sorts. Jubilee is doing soaringly well. It is so obvious that she was made for us, and we her. However, pair the newness of her adoption with home schooling early grades and taming the terrible twos and Daniel's present busyness, and this is one groove I hope passes quickly.

Two weeks later

2011-08-29T05:33:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, a frazzled Chinese lady placed this little thing in my waiting arms.

Two weeks is nothing! I've had stomach viruses longer than I've had my daughter. Yet it seems that we've always had her. It seems that she has been with us for ages, pleasing us with her smile, testing us with her gumption, dazzling us with her smarts, shocking us with her adaptability, and stretching us with her sense of humor (I say that because I am 100% sincere and humor-dumb, and Jubilee is a cocky little goober with a laugh that would thrill the grumpiest of grumps).

She is saying, "Up please" and "More milk" and "No thank you." She has decided that she likes peanut butter and honey sandwiches, and pizza, though she still can't handle sweet stuff like brownies. She is filling out a little, and sleeping like a champ, and she is speaking Cantonese less and less (a sad fact, but she gets a forever family out of the deal, so I don't feel too bad about the loss of her first language; maybe she can pick it up again in college).

Happy two weeks, sweetheart! We absolutely love you to pieces!