Part Human . . .

. . . Part Elf.

Seriously, could this baby BE any cuter?

More on the outrageously adorable Leo,
non-gestational motherhood,
donor genes,
and cold-weather biking coming soon!
For real. I promise.

My Little "Wish"

our pumpkin family matches our real family

Zeben was all set to be a frog for Halloween this year, using the costume I bought for him last year at the consignment shop (but which he didn't wear then either, since his bird costume from the year before still fit--and being a bird is always a better choice over just about anything else), but at the last minute, after seeing me dressed in my witch costume, he decided that he wanted to be a witch too (these days, matching with mom is actually really cool). Except, for whatever reason, Zeb can't say "witch," so he told me that what he really wanted to be was a "Little Wish." Who could deny him that? One old black tank-top later, and Zeben, the little wish, was born.


We pretty much dudded out on Halloween/Samhein this year; we didn't even carve pumpkins! I had been planning to do a whole ceremony in remembrance of Gramma Kate, Lena's grandmother who passed away in September. But I think everything with the puppy and the fact that we're still not especially done unpacking distracted me. And instead Luke and Jaz wore slight variations of what they wore last year (Luke was the clown this time, and Jaz wore much of Luke's Zoro costume, although he called himself a vampire [and my mom, the queen of Halloween costumes, spent many hours altering the Zoro cape so that it would look like a vampire cape]), Zeb was the low-maintenance tank-top witch and a frog (different costumes for each of the festivities we attended), and Leo went as a really cute baby (which required very little costume).

Again, I was inspired by the fact that the kids seem to enjoy handing out candy to other children (they hand out the very same candy that they've just finished collecting) even more than they enjoy acquiring it. And they excitedly told anyone who would listen about how the Halloween Fairy would be bringing them books in exchange for their remaining candy the next morning (and the Halloween Fairy, unlike the absent-minded Tooth Fairy, actually remembered to deliver the books on time!). Luke and Jaz are both really on the cusp of learning to read right now, and I feel like we are getting a taste of the future what with all the practicing going on these days (I picture them sitting on the couch for hours on end with their noses in books). I love it.


Today Zeben started a new schedule at preschool. Instead of going 4 mornings a week, he will be going 3 full days (staying for nap in the afternoon, and getting picked up at 3:00). The other schedule just wasn't working out for us with our work schedules or our attempt at car-free living (Lena wasn't getting any alone time with Leo (something we both agree is important), I was only getting one day a week with Zeb, and we felt we were spending the bulk of each day commuting by foot). And even though this schedule makes so much more sense (I'll now have 2 full days with Zeb and Leo, Lena has 2 full days with just Leo, and Zeb gets picked up at the same time as Luke and Jaz, making commuting much simpler), it's a little hard for me to swallow the idea of my baby (and by baby I mean my 35-pound, nearly 3-year-old baby) being in school for such a long stretch of the day. My BIG wish is that he just takes this transition in stride, sleeps all afternoon at school, and continues to be the fabulous small person that he is.

Sometimes We Fail

Last Thursday, the puppy who lived with us for nearly 4 weeks, left in the arms of her new, ecstatic, human family. The rollercoaster that led to this decision leaves us now feeling both hugely relieved and utterly heartbroken. We feel sure that it was the right decision to make, though loving and losing is never easy.

We now know that I am apparently allergic even to hypo-allergenic dogs. And, as I suppose was predictable, we know that our children do not enjoy any chores that must be done on someone else's--namely a puppy's--time table. We have come to realize that there is a point at which even we--lovers of excitement and constant chaos--reach our limit. Sometimes too much is too much. Sometimes our hands really are too full. Sometimes we fail.

When Luke and Jaz were newly 2, Lena and I decided to become foster parents. Our dear friends had at that point adopted 3 children (they have now adopted four) through the state foster care system, and the stories they told us about some of the homes their children had lived in before coming to them were truly horrifying. Having been a stay-at-home mom for two years, I was itching to do something that would make me feel like I was making a difference in the lives of people outside our family. Our goal in becoming foster parents was to foster newborn babies who would only be in care temporarily before being reunited with their birth families, believing that even a few months--or weeks--of attachment and love would impact them indefinitely.

The process of getting licensed was lengthy and involved Lena and I taking evening classes, social workers making many visits to our house for interviews and home inspections, and collecting letters of recommendations from people who knew us well. While we were going through it, the vast majority of our friends and family members were trying to talk us out of it. My mother was so opposed to the idea that I didn't even tell her when we actually started the training. Everyone thought our hands were full enough with our twin toddlers and couldn't possibly understand why we'd want to add foster babies to our chaos. But I had a vision. And I had to try it out.

After nearly 6 months, we were finally approved. I got the call at about 10:00 a.m., saying that our license had come in to the local office. Two hours later, our social worker called back and asked if we would consider the placement of a 3-day-old baby boy. I first met baby Isaiah two hours later, in the parking lot of Stop & Shop (I remember wondering if Luke and Jaz--who went with me to pick Isaiah up--would be permanently confused about "where babies come from"). He was a teeny tiny thing, weighing only 6 lbs., with a full head of hair, dressed in a stretch suit that was much too big for him. The social worker who delivered him to me simply handed me the baby, along with a small, half-drunk bottle, and drove off, leaving me standing in a daze. I went inside the grocery store to buy some formula, and then drove to Lena's work so that she could meet the baby.

That night--our first night with Isaiah--I bathed him and studied every part of his perfect little body. I could hardly sleep all night, every time the baby would wake to eat, I felt I needed to examine him further. It reminded me of the night after Luke and Jaz were born. I wept for Isaiah's mother and wondered where she was and what she was doing, imagining her breasts overflowing with milk for her absent baby. Over the coming week I struggled between feeling like I needed to fall in love with Isaiah, so that he would feel real parental love, and feeling like I needed to protect my own heart. Caring for him was much harder than I thought it would be, the sleep deprivation from having to feed him bottles in the night was like nothing I had experienced breastfeeding twins, and the lack of postpartum hormones or opportunity to nap with him during the day (due to Luke and Jaz) soon made me feel like a zombie. It was also hard to keep sight of our original goals, hard to justify prioritizing this baby who would not be a member of our family forever. Luke and Jaz's needs always took a back seat to the baby's needs, and while this is easy to justify when adding a baby to your family permanently (in which case the boys would be gaining a brother), it was more difficult when the reality was that they were missing out on our attention and gaining very little in the long-term.

The social worker had told us that Isaiah would likely be with us for 3 to 4 months while his mom got herself back on her feet. But in actuality, Isaiah was with us for only 2 weeks, after which point the social workers had determined that reunification was no longer the goal, and Isaiah moved on to a pre-adoptive home. Heartbroken, but also relieved to get to sleep through the night and give my full attention to Luke and Jaz, we probably should have determined right then and there that fostering was not going to work out. Instead, not ready to admit failure, we welcomed a second baby into our home just a week or so later.

Bree was 10 months old at the time, and as sweet as can be. Her mom had voluntarily placed her in care while seeking medical treatment for mental health issues, and we were her second foster home in a week. In some ways caring for Bree was easier than caring for Isaiah, because she did sleep through the night, and readily drank her bottles (feeding Isaiah often took upward of 30 minutes), but it was also harder because her presence made more of an impact on Luke and Jaz (she could crawl and get into their toys, and required that anything "tiny" be put away). Luke and Jaz had thought Isaiah was adorable, but they did not like Bree. Everywhere I went with three little ones under age 3, I'd get the "wow--your hands are FULL!" comments (which, honestly, have been a constant throughout my mothering career), but at this moment, it felt really true. After a couple of weeks with Bree, I felt like it was honestly more than I could handle. We called the social worker and told her we were done, and sweet little Bree moved on once again.

As difficult as it was to admit our failure as foster parents, the calm that followed made our life seem exceptionally peaceful and easy. The tension I had been holding inside me was released and I felt myself relaxing for the first time in a month. I enjoyed my children in a way that I hadn't been able to in a long time and felt grateful for our family being just as it was. The experience of having--and then letting go of--Tula has felt remarkably similar. The fantasy both times was so wonderful, and the reality so much harder. And failing was so painful. Who gives away their kids' puppy? Who sends a baby on to yet another foster home? How can we justify these decisions? Announcing that we were wrong, that we had failed, was not easy. But ultimately, we had to realize that it is better to recognize our mistakes and rectify things than to go on living in an extremely stressful situation. Our home was not a good home for a puppy, who largely needed to be segregated from the kids lest she chew them up. And it was not a good home for a foster baby, who needed a family who could prioritize the baby's needs without guilt. Realizing that I am not capable of things that I WANT to be capable of is probably the hardest part for me. I want so badly to be able to take these kinds of challenges in stride.

So, we're back to being "just the six of us" and life feels doable and sunny again. We all miss Tula from time to time, but her absence is largely a good thing. The kids realize that she was more than they could handle, and Lena and I do as well. Jaz is saving his money for a pet lizard. Tula's new family--some friends of ours who live off the grid in a neighboring town--is so happy to have her and it seems that everything worked out as it was meant to, heartbreak and all.

The other day Lukas realized when we were half-way to school that he had forgotten to bring along his library book, which was due that day. I could sense the panic rising within him, and he and Jaz began theorizing about what his fate would be when he arrived at school empty-handed. I anticipated that he might flat out refuse to enter the building--Lukas is the definition of a perfectionist and prides himself on following every single school rule--but when we arrived, he surprised me by saying, "you know, everyone makes mistakes, mom. It will be OK."

And it was.

Where We've Been

I realize that I have a post with the exact same title from October of last year, and wonder if there's something about this month that keeps me away from the computer (indeed, we've been to some of the exact same places). Or if it's just a coincidence that things have been so super chaotic lately, and I haven't had a chance to attend to this space.

Some snap shots from the last few weeks:

I made French Toast for dinner while wearing two kids.

My family took a bath without me. And they all fit in the tub!

Leo was REALLY happy.

Because he learned to sit!
(Leo, nearly 4 months old)

Zeben looked for lots and lots of worms (and found a few).

We walked about 20 miles, to and from school.

We went apple picking at my grandparents' house.

We picked lots . . .

. . . and LOTS of apples. Seven bags full.

Jaz took a picture of Lena and me (and Leo).

And I tried to capture our whole brood looking happily at the camera.
And nearly succeeded.

I've cut back on work hours as of next week, and have reduced the chaos in our lives in other ways as well. I'm hoping to break the blog silence with a very post-heavy November. Thank you for not giving up on me and my little blog.

Scenes From a Home

It seems it's taking us longer than usual to finish unpacking and settling into our new house this time around. We have yet to hang anything on the walls--I haven't even finished unpacking my clothes!--and our living room is still mostly empty (waiting on a couch and a woodstove). The house has a familiarity about it--it looks like us--but it's really only just beginning to feel like a home. Here are a few pictures from this past week of our emerging home that make me feel like we're getting closer:

Lukas reading a book to Leo in the playroom

Celebrating Nama's birthday in the dining room

Jaz and Leo snuggling in the kitchen

Zeben, watching the squirrels in the front yard from the kitchen couch

The toy animals lined up, "in size order," on the living room windowsill 

Leo playing!

A certain rain-lover, joyfully testing out a third driveway

Leo, peacefully sleeping in the hammock*

There is so much I want to do to help us settle into this cozy house, and so very many distractions keeping me from doing much of anything house-related. My next goal is to finish building the chicken run, so that we can move our chickens here (they are still living at my mom's, a couple miles away), but after that I can hopefully focus more energy on the inside of our home. For now, I'll just have to be at peace with the progress we've made, and the calm that is finally beginning to return to our family. 

*We thought we loved the hammock before we moved, but after two weeks without it (that's how long it took us to find a ceiling joist in the new house from which to hang it), we REALLY love it. Hello, sleeping baby! We missed you!

"Leaping Water"

So. About the puppy. It all started a few weeks ago when Lena suggested that perhaps, since we were about to buy our first house, we should get a dog. We'd always promised the kids, when they partook in the obligatory, "we want a dog!" whine-fest, that we certainly would get a dog someday, but not until after we were done with renting houses. Lena and I rented with dogs for four years (which, since it's us we're talking about, translates into 3 different homes) and it was really difficult to find acceptable dog-friendly housing in our town(s). Once we added the human children to the mix, finding appropriate rentals became even more difficult. Not many people want to rent to a family with 3+ children and a dog. And if they do, it's because their house is already so trashed that there's pretty much nothing left to destroy, and no one else willing to live in it. 

When Lena suggested that we put the "we'll get a puppy when we buy a house" plan in motion, I was quick with my "absolutely not" response (puppies are, as we well know, a lot of work). That was on a Friday. The next morning my computer took a flying leap into a tub full of water, I lost three years of photographs and other written work, and everything changed. I spent much of the day--post computer death--out in the goat yard, taking down fences and communing with my four-legged friends. Suddenly the idea of living without the daily presence of animals seemed downright depressing. And I thought, "let's." 

"Let's get a puppy. For the joy of it." 

This time it was Lena who balked. Puppies are a lot of work. She had proposed the dog idea as a "theoretically, in the future" kind of idea, whereas I, being my most impulsive self, was suggesting it as more of a "right now, tomorrow" kind of idea. But Lena came around to Operation Puppy after a couple of days, and then the "perfect" puppy landed in our laps (her mama is a golden retriever and her papa is a miniature poodle. Just like our human children, she was conceived with the help of AI (alternative insemination). We felt hugely conflicted about the whole shelter puppy vs. breeder puppy thing (our best dog thus far, Sky--whom Zeben is named after--was a shelter puppy), but needed a "hypo-allergenic" pup, so ultimately felt at peace with our decision). We picked her up on October 5th, when she was 8 weeks old, and her name is Tula. It means "leaping water."

There have been times over the past 10 days when I have wondered if maybe this time we really did bite off more than we can chew (pun absolutely intended). But Tula is a sweetheart and the pieces are coming together. We are confident that, assuming we survive her puppyhood, she will be a great dog who will very much enhance our family. The kids adore her (though not so much the extra chores), she has already drastically increased the amount of time we spend outside (especially in cold, wet weather), and once we finish fencing in our yard, I'm guessing that life-with-puppy-and-four-young-children will feel just about manageable. With all the joy it could possibly contain.

Yes We Are (Insane).

But she is pretty cute.