I adore my three-year old. Jackson is hilarious, loving, and preciously protective of his siblings. He is still three, though, and doesn’t like going to bed.
He really doesn’t like being put to bed for the eighth time (per evening, and all of these times in the course of writing this post) and spontaneously appears around the house several hours after bedtime has commenced. I’m considering making a suit of pajamas out of Velcro and constructing special Velcro sheets to match: he is officially a night person.
I feel like I am still processing what happened. It is the strangest mix of emotions I’ve ever dealt with: I’m ecstatic, heartbroken, thankful, worried, peaceful, and probably still a bit in shock.
My foster daughter’s bio dad made the decision to relinquish her to us.
Let that sink in for a minute.
I went to the grocery store and as I was leaving, there was a bottleneck of people trying to get out the door. As I trooped through trying to avoid nailing some poor soul in the Achilles tendon with my cart, I realized what the problem was: a woman was blocking half the walkway directing shoppers out. The big rug wasn’t lying completely flat and there was a bump since the edge was folded under. The lady had decided that this was a safety hazard and was telling everyone to watch their step while trying to direct traffic around the mat. She was saying she had called one of the employees to rectify the situation.
When I was a little kid, I loved to swim. Before I swam competitively though, there was a certain amount of fear mixed in. My parents did a good job of teaching me to have a healthy fear and respect water. I had a near drowning experience that made me realize the fine line between fun and danger (just so you know, it is never a good idea to fall asleep while hanging on the pool wall during your swim lessons as a 4 year old).
Some fear is healthy. Living in fear is not nor is the absence of fear.
I’m so excited to be doing the first regular post here! I’ve been ecstatic to have Uncommon Grace up and running after the official launch last week. I’ve put a lot of effort into getting this site “right” and by this I mean editing the old posts I decided to bring over from my old site, redoing and editing my photography, and agonizing over my word choice for the pages. I spent a lot of time on it and I had begun to feel like I poured my heart and soul into it.
But, I can’t really do that. More on that in a second.
The past two weeks have been tough. I mean really tough.
It started when our two-year old began coughing on a Tuesday. Jack was doing okay, but by Friday, Ethan was coughing so hard he was crying begging to stay home from school. He is the kind of kid who is so tough that when he sliced open his foot playing barefoot basketball (a not good idea, as he now understands) at the neighbors, he had to be carried home. He left a trail of blood behind and never once cried.