Randomness

As I'm driving down to spend the day with my bestie, some of the stupidest things running through my head..

For example..

If we went by Smurf names, who would everybody in the family be?

Daddy Chaos is easy .. Papa Smurf

Drama queen, Southern Darlin, and Spoiled Princess are likewise as easy since there's only one female in the Smurfs they would be.. Smurfette #1, Smurfette #2 and Smurfette # 3.

Attitude King would definitely be Brainy Smurf.

Fishing Pole would unfortunately be Grumpy Smurf.

Dimples would , of course, be Baby Smurf.

But that still leaves me. There's no mama in the smurfs... I guess I'm a grumpy day I can be Gargumel...

Oh the things that go thru my head.. lol

In the eyes of a preschooler..

It's it funny sometimes, how our children see us?   This year for Mother's day I got lots of homemade gifts from the little ones!  Love them! :)  One of my favorites (b/c I laughed so much from it.. lol) was Dimples though..   I thought I'd share it with you today.

 This is me.   It's a bit hard to tell but he put little earrings in my ears- I guess to make a statement that I was female because you can't quite tell otherwise.  I rarely wear earrings.   Obviously the day they did this project, I was wearing a green shirt - again I only have 1 green shirt and it's not a color I wear often.. However, I absolutely love that I have not only a nose and mouth but red glasses (yes I do have red glasses)!  I am a bit, however, concerned about my basically bald head with only some bangs.. I'm still trying to figure out if perhaps I am completely bald with really bushy eyebrows or just mostly bald with some combed forward bangs??

Either way, the best part was the back..  Where they have sentences for the kids to finish.. lol.

 My Mom is Special ! 

1. My Mom is special because she gave me a blue police car. 

2. My Mom is as pretty as a the United States of America. 

3. What outfit do you think looks best on your Mom?  her green shirt

4. How many pairs of shoes does your Mom have? 1 , 2, 3, 4, 5

5. What is the best thing that she cooks for you? corn dogs

6. What does your Mom like to do for fun ? go to bed in the morning

7. My Mom can do many things!  I think she's best at watching T.V.

8. My Mom has a pretty smile!  I like to make her smile by playing dress-up

9. My Mom is smart!  She even knows how to use the phone. 


Bless that child.. He's lucky I love him so much, since he pretty much made me sound like some slacker ass drunk mom who parties all nite, falls in bed in the morning & watches tv all day while feeding my kid corn dogs.. But hey, at least I know how to use a phone :)  LOL!


From the youngest to the oldest there was quite a difference.   This was the first year that Drama Queen had a job and bought me Mother's Day presents with her own money.  It somehow made it just a bit more special that she was willing to spend her money on me.   I had more of a Mother's Day week as she kept leaving me little cute notes w/ goodies attached through out the house.

Goodie # 1.   - left on my pillow one nite.

I love chewy sweetarts !  Especially the purple & pink ones.. I was nice enough to share the yellow and green though. lol.

Goodie #2.  - left on the dash of my car, found it early in the morning when I got in to take Dimples to the Children's hospital for yet another appt.

hmmm.. I Love me some twix!

Goodie # 3. -  left on my nightstand .

Mother's Day morning - she had to work, but I woke up to find a box with a lovely Mom necklace in it and another note.   Loved it.  

Happy Mother's Day !

Happy Mother's Day !!  Whether you are a mother-to-be,  a veteran mother with half a dozen kids, a birth mother or adoptive mother, a surrogate mother, a foster mother or a mother to a little one with wings.  I hope today is a day that you can count your blessings and bask in the love of your children. I have quite a few friends with angel babies and I can't imagine your loss right now, I hope you know that my heart is always with you and your babies are loved always!


Today, I wanted to share with you this amazing post that I read.. You  may have already seen it shared on FB by a friend which is where I originally saw it, but I was so deeply touched by it that I couldn't help but post.  How did this woman get into my head and know my thoughts and feelings so well?  She put it way better than I ever could.

From Kathy Harris :

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child,

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son’s school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.

It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.

Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn’t in God’s plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin’s neighbor’s friend. Maybe you ignored them.

Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life-savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.
Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes, but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes, so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher.

And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.

Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby’s room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding, from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.

And I know about the followup visits, when you hadn’t slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I’ve seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what’s being promised and what’s not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I’ve seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that’s emerging. I’ve seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn’t have to go through with this. I’ve seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments—while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I’ve seen you look down into a newborn infant’s eyes, wondering if he’s really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.

And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn’t even know you were holding for months. Months.

I’ve seen you meet your child’s birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road.

I’ve seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile … people who love him because he’s one of them. I’ve seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he’s shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I’ve seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things — but you can’t protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.

I’ve seen you at the doctor’s office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little blanks don’t turn into big problems later on.

I’ve seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

I’ve seen you wonder how you’ll react the first time you hear the dreaded, “You’re not my real mom.” And I’ve seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.
I’ve seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I’ve seen you look into your child’s eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that’s just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter, and who, if torn from you, would be like losing yourself.

Now wipe your tears and go hug your little ones.   May you be pampered and loved today!

*Disclosure- the above post by Kathy Lynn Harris was reposted with permission. *