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| Emma is taking a baby nap, and Andrew is singing as he puts together the Thomas the Train track. He is not quite as addicted to trains as his brother was, but he is definitely a recreational user. Nathan is off at school, hopefully eating all of the lunch I packed for him in his Spiderman lunchbox. Pam is at her office, and I just finished folding clothes and balancing the checkbook. I am planning to drink a nice cold can of Lime Diet Coke when I feed my baby 6 ounces of formula. I am officially planning to change my name to Martha Stewart. No. I think that I still want to be able to vote and own guns. Marge Simpson? It is a smokey day in Bozeman, as my state seems to be on fire. It almost seems foggy, and the mountains are invisible in the haze. To tell you the truth I haven't been all that concerned about the fires this summer. They are unfortunate, but as my dad enjoys spending his retirement driving around buses of Native American fire fighters, I kind of think of fires as a mixed blessing. But not today. There is a big fire sitting on the doorstep the Boulder valley, south of Big Timber,and that ground is mine. Now I don't actually own any land along the Boulder river, but my memory inhabits a tract of that valley. I started going to church camp at Camp on the Boulder when I was 6 or 7, and I started working there when I was 14. I spent about thirteen summers there and it was there that I met my wife. (As Pam has red hair I was going to quote Charlie Brown by saying that I met a nice little red haired girl there, but that sounds creepy, especially on the internet.) We worked together, and I proposed there and we got married in the big field on a cloudy August day. In our wedding pictures Pam is the beautiful one, next to the guy with the mullet. Many of my friends worked at camp and my dog Tigger is buried on that mountain. I have hiked those trails and fished the river and walked on the dirt road. It belongs to me as much as it belongs to anyone. So when they evacuated the valley on Sunday I got a little worried. It is a big fire, and there are lots of trees ready to burn. I have confidence in the fire fighters, but lots of ground has burned so far, and I just want it to rain. I want my valley to be saved, and to remain the way it looks in my stories and in my mind. I don't want it to be destroyed. We were part of a wedding this weekend. Our dear friend Holly hitched herself to a good guy named David. They met when they were kids, lost touch, and found each other again. It was fun to be with them, and to watch them sort float through the whole thing. Very sweet. Very cute. Very good. I had the honor of doing the marrying, and it was a blessing. I just about missed having the bride give the ring to the groom, but I could see a ring holding bestman twitching in my periphery vision, and was able to self correct. The couple wrote their own vows, and it is especially great to witness two honest people making promises that they intend to keep. It's a fairy tale, and I'm sure they'll enjoy the movie... I am pausing here to figure out how personal forest fires and nice weddings tie together. This is what I do. I could go the obvious way and say something about The Bible saying it is better to marry than to burn with desire, but that is too easy. Maybe something about how interesting it is that bad things and good things happen simultaneously, and that is how life works out. Or how about... I'll just finish my artificially flavored can of pop and smile at my little baby(she's up now) and think, as I do, that things will work out for the best. Yeah. | | |
| Anybody seen my summer? I just had it, and I think I misplaced it somewhere. There was tee ball, and a Memorial Day campout, and some fireworks. The boys and I went to the movies every Tuesday and I fed Emma approx. 17,000 bottles of baby formula. Pam and Nathan went to Kosovo, and I spent 6 lovely days in the Pacific northwest state of Starbucks. And bang..... I am already up to late as I have to drive the tall blond kid across town to first grade 7 hours from now . I am already wondering when the cheap ski days are going to be.
Maybe it is true that time goes by quicker as you get older. I remember summer as a long, substantial amount of time filled with camping and tee ball, and movies and family trips. Hmmm. I also seem to remember car chases and my dad ramping his car over rivers, but that is probably just Dukes of Hazard flashbacks. Time isn't any faster or any slower. We were all just busy and life doesn't stop when school is out.
We bought sheets of ten tickets for $5 to go to the kids summer movies at the Livingston theature. I would put Nathan and Andrew and one of Nathan's buddies into the van and drive 30 miles over the mountain to have our minds expanded by Ice Age 2, Curious George, Cars, and Cheaper by the Dozen 2, and there was one about little red riding hood and a a painfully stupid one about a dog named Doogle. It was made nearly perfect by the $1 kids pop and popcorn special. 4 bags of $.50 popcorn is equal to one $3.75 adult bag. We saw one called Hoot, which was touching story about some kids who saved endangered owls from evil capitalists trying to build a pancake house. As we drove away I asked the car load of tykes,"Can you say Eco terrorism?" It wasn't that bad, as we were introduced to the acting of Jimmy Buffett, which will probably be enough to convince me to kick out $15 for the Dvd. After that movie Nathan was on the phone trying to explain to grandma, "It was great that those kids saved the owls from the bad guy who was trying to make houses out of pancakes!"
I did spend 6 days in Washington with my friends Luke and Amy. They recently bought a house in Paulsbo, a $23 ferry ride from Seatle, and they needed someone to pick rocks out of their yard. They also needed someone to take to a Yankees/Mariners game and to a Mariners/ Red Sox game. Baseball is amazing up close, especially with extremely expensive junk food. We also did stop by Starbucks once or twice or actually 6 times, and I am at this very moment craving a white chocolate mocha with peppermint. That just sounds embarrassing, but once you've had the needle in your arm.... I will need rehab soon. It was a great time and it is nice to have friends, who will some day have a son named Ricky Bobby Larson. No they aren't expecting, but we can pray for them....dear baby...Jeter. (I apologize for any inside jokes, which I tend to hate, but which could not be avoided in this instance!)
And so life continues. Nathan is in school. Andrew is soon to have his tonsils out. Emma can now roll herself across the livingroom floor. Pam is over her jet lag, and is putting together a marriage conference at church.(Sept. 15 and 16....cheap...with snacks...maybe?) I am busy, and am looking forward to some new things this fall. My dog is asleep on the floor, and I still need to do my taxes, but not tonight. I still have time!
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| Tax extention filed. Procrastinaters rejoice!
One of the three tykes at our house is sick, and we are working hard to keep the percentage below 50%. Since the sick one is also the one who was required to show up at school this morning, we had to make the phone call that legitimizes his absence. Even though he has a fever and could barely eat Easter candy yesterday I still feel guilty calling in. It feels like I'm lying. So Pam called in. She is so believable. Especially since she is telling the truth.
We are going through this adoption stuff, which could literally last forever. I can now fully comprehend the whole eternity, salvation, heaven thing that was such a popular topic in churches everywhere this past weekend. It is just the nature of this kind of adoption, and it is not a bad reflection of the people we are working with. All the social workers, nurses, lawyers, judges have been great and we are constantly amazed at the dedication they have to seeing that the right things happen for the kids they are responsible for. They see alot of really crappy stuff and it must be hard to do that work day in and out.
The one thing that is a little weird is just that there are alot of extra eyes on you. Pam delivered Nathan at home, (On purpose!), (NO. Not Crazy.), (...Actually quite a pleasant experience.) (Yes I know that I am a man.) (No I have never..will never go through labor.) ( Take a breathe. Call my wife. I am quoting her accurately.) Anyway... So the whole birth, "it's a boy.", umbilical snipping thing happened. Our nice midwife helped out for a couple hours afterward, and then after reminding me not to hold the baby for too long without a diaper, she left. Door closed. Tiny person. Okay then. Tumble weed blowing slowly, slowly across the road.
It's not that we didn't have help from friends and family. We had lots of help. But with Emma it is a little different, as the goverernment is involved. As foster parents there are visits from people and lots of questions, and all that is a little weird. Pam had to fill out a long questionaire the other day, with a public health nurse, which included, "Do you fear domestic abuse from your husband?" This isn't quite as bad as the proverbial, "Have you stopped beating your wife question?" asked to politicians by the National Enquirerer. (Pause for a moment and ask yourself that question, substituting husband, roommate, dog, and see if you can come up with a good answer.)(Abuser!) Pam's question was not that bad, but just being asked puts you on the defensive. After you say no, your mind darts around, "Did I answer too quickly? too slowly? with too much eye contact? or not enough?" Yuck.
Why is it so easy to start feeling guilty about things that I have never done. I have never robbed a bank, attempted to take over a small country, and I have not been any kind of abusive, foreign or domestic. (I did slam Pam's hand in a car door once, but that wasn't my fault. Stupid hatch back!) Even though that is true, there is that lurking doubt that I couldn't pass a lie detector test if I was asked by the CSI team where I was last night. "I was home watching the Sopranos. Okay you've got me. I was watching the Gilmore Girls!" (Sappy chick flick tv show, for those of you thinking that sounds in someway innappropriate.) See! I even sound guilty.
I guess the point is that if I even feel guilty for the things I don't do, how can I function when I actually do something wrong? When I say something, think something, do something that isn't quite What Would Jesus Do, and more like What Would Homer Do? I guess that it is the beauty of, "it was for freedom that he has set us free." I am free to stand and look into that empty tomb, and be thankful that what he started he will finish. Thank goodness.
That's my story and I am sticking to it! | | |
| Just a another day.
Monday morning at Rockford Coffee. Medium drip. Works bagel with cream cheese. Perfect.
Paid for with a gift certificate. Priceless!
My baby was smiling when I left the house this morning. She laughs now too!
My son Nathan wants me to eat lunch with him and his kinder folk today at school. I was ordered not to tell embarrassing stories. Ordered!
My digital camera was full so I was looking for pictures to delete. Andrew likes to take pictures with it but he holds it backwards so the flash goes off in his face. There were a lot of pictures of his nose. Can't delete those.
My wife bought me an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen last night. Single people: marry wisely. Married people; buy your spouse an ice cream cake!
My buddy Mike is meeting me for a second lunch. I am a secret shopper. Sort of a domestic spying thing involving BBQ. Free lunch. Nice.
My friends Luke and Amy will be happy to hear that I was loudly and somewhat self consciously singing, "I don't wanna be lonely no more!" last night in the old people section at the Rob Thomas concert. My fool proof plan for free concerts at the MSU field house is indeed fool proof.
The library's buck a bag booksale is staring in a few minutes. The sun is shining. My coffee is almost gone.
This is a good way to start another year.
PS. We finally settled on a middle name for our baby girl, and in the somewhat sickly sentimental mood of the morning this is my next country song.
Spring is here and summer,
Oh summer's coming soon.
I look into my baby's eyes.
A father's heart does swoon.
My love for you is new and old,
As big as skies and moon.
I sing of you for you are mine,
A never ending tune.
What is your name?
Your name my dear,
Your name is Emma June.
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Ah! Spring is in the air, or it will be once all the snow gets out of its way. Nice white fluffy snow is great in the fall and especially great when getting ready for $10 day at your favorite ski hill. It is not so lovely on and around St. Patrick's day, and God forbid Memorial Day. I guess I'm ready to wear shorts for a while.
The week before spring was one of those memorable ones. We left town for a few days and spent the time with family. That centered around my brother who was home on two weeks leave from the war. The one in Iraq. Maybe you've heard about it? Sand, camels, boot legged DVDs. He came back with one of those unfortunate Army moustaches that disappeared by the second time I saw him. So the week was full of playing kids, and family pictures, and my dad making a very tasty shrimp alfredo. We even spent a lovely evening at Chuck E. Cheese, crack den of the very young. A free refill pop machine and kindergartners is one of the truly bad ideas in history, right up there with communism and the third Crocodile Dundee movie. Nonetheless a pretty nice time.
The thing is that my little brother has to get on a plane tomorrow and fly back around the world to a place where people salute him and call him Captain. And where other people are not so cordial and in fact are quite disagreeable. (If you hadn’t noticed I occasionally attempt to use humor to mask my true feelings.) And while spending a few days with one of my favorite people is nice, there is another 7 months ahead of holding my breath.
The truth is that I live by a theory that I am pretty sure is true. It basically sounds something like, "God gives you grace in the situation you are in." I watch people going through things that seem awful or scary or crazy hard, and I wonder how on earth they make it. I know deep down that I could never survive what they are going through. But I really believe that grace is like a scuba tank, and even though you may be under water there is someone saying,"Here breathe this for a while until you get back to shore."
I think that I was breathing sweet clean oxygen from a tank last week. I sat in a courtroom, waiting to hear the judge’s decision on whether my little baby girl would get to stay with us or would have go home with someone else. Even looking back, now that the air is turned off, I think, why wasn’t I more nervous, especially when some people on my side were not prepared and dropped the ball, and when the judge’s ruling began with, "This was a close decision....." Just typing that makes me queezy, but then I was quite content. And when the ruling ended up in our favor, well of course it would....wouldn’t it?
It is not to say that hard things aren’t hard. Life is full of losses and death is the big bastard waiting for all of us. But in the midst of it I can breathe deeply and my eyes start to clear and I can begin to see the real destination. I also see that there is someone who cares more about my brother and my daughter and even me, than I could ever hope to understand. And out of that care, I am able to hope for the things that I desire... an adoption, a safe return, a reunion.
So breathe deep today. Grace tastes good! | | |
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