They nest with Copperheads.

A few days ago we had quite a homeschool adventure. I was inside and the boys went to swing on our huge tree. I heard screaming. I realized quickly it wasn't the normal screaming. I heard "SAM, GET AWAY FROM IT" and then I heard "It's a baby bear" I freaked out. Where there are baby bears, there are mama bears. I went flying outside and they are all staring at the tree. Then I realized relief for a moment when I saw what they were looking at. A big black snake. My momentary relief turned back to terror when I realized it was a huge five to six foot long snake. Climbing up their tree! After my heart steadied from the morning horror show, my brain decided it was just a black rat snake. Not poisonous. But I do know that they bite. So we stood back and watched it. In all it's snakey grossness.

There's something so icky about something with no arms or legs climbing up a tree.

Taking a tour of the tree house.

He then disappeared into the branches.

  So, of course I'm freaking out every time I have to go beneath the tree, knowing there could be huge snakes above my head. I'm certain they are going to fall on me. And I'm mad because I know they are messing with my birds.

After our adventure we came inside to learn more about the snake and review our pictures. We learned they their favorite tree is a Red Maple, so that's why he was in our tree. They eat moles and voles, which is good for my yard, but those guys don't live in trees. The worst part, the absolute worst thing, they don't make their own nesting grounds, they with Copperheads. They just slither in and share the space. WITH COPPERHEADS!

Thankfully we've never seen one and this guy must of been young. My kids are all over that tree and no animal is stupid enough to hang around for long. I hope.

I'm in Holland.

Have you ever read the amazing essay about Holland? If not, you need to. Go read HERE. Have you done it? Okay good, let's move on. So for the last ten years of my motherhood journey I have wanted a little girl. I LOVE my boys with all my heart. But, I still dreamed in purple and bows. So we decided to adopt, that was a flop. We decided to do foster care. We got a boy. Then a girl, she left six months later. Then a boy. Then a girl. Then the same boy. So I have my girl. Odds are looking good that she will stay. So my dreams of purple and bows are coming true. But, it's not Italy. We were welcomed at the gate, to Holland.

Ladybug is full of windmills and tulips. She's a beauty of a child. Blonde hair and dark brown eyes and long dark eyelashes that make mascara commercials jealous. She's a sweet and loving as the day is long. She's also labeled. She has "sensory processing disorder", "low muscle tone", "developmental delays", "cognitive delays", "severe oral fixation", "severe acid reflux", "recurrent ear infections", " low body awareness", "hyposensitive to surroundings", "possible non-verbal" and I'm waiting on the "autism spectrum". So my sweet little girl needs help. She's seeing a therapist six times a month. We start swim classes next week. She's getting all her medical needs attended to. It's so not the streets of Italy that I imagined. But, we are getting used to Holland. It takes a little longer to get around here, no Vespa to zoom through the streets. We're becoming used to strolling and enjoying the view.

We're seeing bits of improvement, a few small words here and there, playing with a toy for more than five seconds, and better balance. I hope with her intense schedule we will get to visit Italy now and then. Even if we set up our home in Holland, my sweet girl will make it a wonderful place to live.

Now, for something a bit more random. My friend Heather, at Laundry Room Quilts had a quilting challenge. Her quilt was called "Welcome to Holland" I could not write this piece without including the photo of her quilt. It's amazing. (and for sale)

Somewhere Else

Our joy is visible, you can even feel it. Our sweet M is home. The baby we've had since he was 35 days old. Until he was 6 months old, we thought he was ours. From 6 months to 9 months he had visits. From 9 months to 12 months he was with his family more than us. For 2 weeks he was not with us at all. Now he's home. We are so thankful and so joyful to have him!

However, I am constantly reminded that somewhere else, there are people mourning. There is a family who no longer has him. He's such an amazing little boy. I wish...well I don't know what I wish. It's so emotional.

It's the life of foster care. While we're happy to have a child, somewhere there is someone who no longer has their child. And yes, I realize there is a reason why we have these kids. No one removes children from a happy loving family. I get that. It doesn't make it easier sometimes. There's a sadness that hangs over these children and families like us.

So while we lose ourselves in the joy of having M home. The joy of raising sweet Ladybug and M together, more than my heart could even have thought of, there is a sadness.

They don't look like us, because they were not born to us. They, in their short little lives, have been removed, moved, visited, moved again. I pray they come to rest here. This is their home. We are their family. I am their mama. And yet, somewhere there is a mama and a family with empty arms and empty photo frames.

So while my heart mainly sings, there is a tiny part that weeps for what they are missing. And a teeny tiny part that feels guilty that I get to experience these amazing kids and they no longer do.

My heart is singing.

Singing heart? Maybe. I can't even find words. Our sweet baby M is home with us. God and his funny funny sense of humor. We would have never accepted a placement while M was here. So we wouldn't have gotten our Ladybug if M was staying. So he left and we got Ladybug and now he's home. So we have both of our little loves. Two small blonde toddlers/crawlers. My mama heart is singing!

Behind the Smile

We are reading a series of books in Sunday School. The newest one is called "An Uphill Faith" and it's so good. It's basically based on the Easter Story. Christ's journey in his last few days, ending with a torturous uphill walk. This past week we were discussing when Jesus went into the garden to pray and took His three closest disciples and friends with him. He wanted his 'people' with Him to pray. He was human, he was scared of what He knew was coming. He wanted to be surrounded by His friends. He was overwhelmed and admits it. "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death." (Mark 14:34) His words.

The books says this " That's vulnerability. The strongest person who ever walked this planet, the second person in the Trinity, is overwhelmed and admits it. Remember, this is a man speaking to other men. He expresses his sorrow and feelings of weakness. It is staggering. When we offer courageous self-disclosure to an inner circle of friends they can care for us in deeper way. Humble vulnerability allows others to pray for us with a level of passion and intelligent insight that will never come otherwise; it allows them to love us better. When this happens we can receive a much-needed power transfusion that will carry us through our uphill journey."(New Community Series)

One of the questions asks, basically, if Jesus, the sinless Son of God needed a support system, what does that say about us?

It was a question that struck me. I am a screwed up, anxiety ridden, crazy, mess of a human being. There's not point in denying it. It's a disservice to myself and to my people. As such a human, I need my people. I need to share and be open and vulnerable. There's no reason to appear to have it all together all the time. Sure some days I do feel like "I've got this" and other days, well other days, not so much.

Sometimes by appearing to have it all together, I get the "oh you're an angel/saint for all that you do, I could never do it." Oh, friend, it's not the case. I didn't post the pictures of my curled on the couch in the midst on an anxiety attack, trying to survive and not let the kids realize it. You didn't see my husband rubbing my back as this attack led me to throw up. You didn't see my freak out and snap at my family because they ate the last of my granola cereal. You didn't see the days when we do no school work. You didn't see the Sunday morning madness to get my family out the door. There's so much the world of blogging and facebook don't show. I wouldn't want to bring anyone down by portraying a "superwoman" picture. Superwoman does not exist.

There's not point in hiding behind a smile, if a smile isn't to be had at that moment. Which brings me to the picture above. This was from November 2010. My anxiety attacks just started. I didn't know what was going on (another long story involving a really bad doctor) Brandy had come to visit and given me this Snuggie as a Christmas present. I loved it. Hence the big smile on my face. This picture doesn't show the hot flash I had a few minutes later and the attack that came on suddenly.

So if Jesus, Himself, needed to be open and share His sorrow with his friends, we as a fallen mess of creation, it seems would need it even more. Find your people, find your person. No, a true friend won't feel drowned in your sorrow. They will help lift you up and out and help you up the hill. When you are nearing the top and can turn around and see that you made it, you're nearly there, hug your people, your person. Those who helped you walk, or even dragged you to the top. That's not to say there's not another hill in the distance, it might be their hill next. But with your people, your inner circle, and with God, there is no hill to big to climb.

So, can I just say ANXIETY SUCKS

It sucks, like really bad. I'm a lucky one. I've never had an attack out and about. They come on late afternoon or evening. I hate them. Well, duh, no normal person would like it. I don't really have social anxiety for which I am thankful. I have the, damn where did that came from, anxiety attacks. Last night, not thinking anything bad or worrisome. I opened Ladybugs dresser drawer and saw an old sleeper of M's. The heat started in my neck. I knew it was coming. I started doing the breathing. I popped a Xanax. I felt the nausea. I popped a Phengren. I popped to late. I spend a decent part of the evening curled in bed having hot and cold flashes. I threw up. I finally fell asleep. I wasted a perfectly good evening with my husband. He tries so hard. He understands. But, there's not much he can do. My medicine works 90% of the time. I can go three months without an attack. I feel guilty. WHY? I have a perfectly happy life. Healthy children.

Yes, I homeschool and foster. I've been doing HS for 5 years and Fostering for three years. All this just started 18 months ago. I've seen a therapist, I've not be consistent at all. I feel silly sitting in a chair talking about my life. I feel totally fine when I'm there. I have not family history that's "therapist" talk. No divorce parents, no lack of love, no trauma, no abuse, amazing kids and husband. I serve a wonderful God. I have great supportive friends. I feel like such a wuss sometimes. Like 'get it together woman." People have it a lot worse than you sometimes. After an attack I'm on edge for a few days, dreading another one. Then I'll realize it's been three weeks, two months, and then BAM another will start. Apparently with no cause. So can I just say ANXIETY SUCKS! If you suffer, please add your info to the comment section if you keep a blog about it.

Suicase of Love UPDATE

To date every child in G....and M....counties have a suitcase. FORTY-NINE bags have been donated. I still have so many I'll be moving into counties over the bridge. I cannot believe how God put this idea on so many hearts and the bags just poured in. Sadly, it's not the end as every week more children enter the system, but WOW what a start.