Totally Normal, Right?

My mom has said many times that I should write a book about our every day happenings.  And, it would have to be labeled as fiction because no one would believe half the stuff that goes on here.  It's also therapeutic for me to laugh and write this stuff down, 'cause if I don't it can make me want to explode.

So, here's a rundown of the week:

#1 I'm sure my neighbors have decided I'm certifibly nuts.  As I was Shop-Vacing the yard today (yes, you read correctly) I look over to see my neighbor Russ, slapping his knee and laughing uncontrollably.  Why, you ask?  Well, yesterday was "Twash Day" (Ana dialect) here at the Laubachs.  (Guess the shredded paper should have been taken directly to the recycling bin.)

#2  I've babysat Big Boy on more than one occasion this week.  We decided that "Big Boy" bears an eery resemblance to G. when he came home.   

#3 We had a fruit fly invasion.  If you've never had one, you can't fully appreciate the following photo.  If you have, you will rejoice along w/ me. We only have a few left. Victory is mineeee!!!!Muwaaaahahh.

And then there was the cleaning of the trampoline-twice!  First was lot and lots and lots of dirt and second was cocoa powder.  Prior to that it was Old Bay seasoning.  

Not to mention needing to clean oil out of the wagon and yard. 

Gabriel was playing mail carrier today and threw a paper over the fence to both of our neighbors.

I was helping G. correctly pronounce his "v"s when I realized the little rat was laughing at me.  Apparently, he thought my face was hilarious as I overemphasized the "v" sound.

I suppose it's not all that different than other families in this season of life.  Right?

Ana Grace Feven Laubach...

She sat on the counter helping me do the ordinary.  Making a peanutbutter banana almondmilk. Something we've done countless times.

And I was struck.  Suddenly, drop you to your knees, struck, by the reality of her.
Of her life.
Of how my life has changed because of her-for the better.
How my heart has been changed-for the better, through this little life.

My mind played back the first time I saw her:
The nanny walked into the room with her and announced her Ethiopian name:  Feven.  It was a moment I've had only 3 other times.  The mama-laying-her-eyes-on-her-child, for the first time, moment.  She was a wonder.  She laughed a "what took you so long" giggle?  I truly thought my heart was going to burst, or I was going to explode, drop to knees, something..because how can a heart contain this joy, this wonder?  I watched as she wiggled her little body across the carpet of the guest room in army crawl fashion.

I've seen the awe of the ocean in Delaware.  I've gazed over Addis Ababa from Entoto Mountain..  I stood in Antigua, Gautemala, staring at a volcano.

But this-this little girl-given to love-was a wonder above all these.

When someone asks me, "Is adoption hard?"  It's difficult to give a straightforward answer.  Ask any adoptive mama.  Because yes, it.is.hard.  Some moments excruciatingly hard.  But there are moments of pure joy at the wonder of it all.

Motherhood-a calling.  Through adoption or biologically.

When we decided that we would adopt two babies, ages 0-12 months, at the same time, I was downright scared.  It was not in my plan.  One child, yes.  And then another should God allow.  But two at the same time, never ever was I a mama who thought it would be "cool" to have twins.  At least I don't recall that now, cause well, living in reality sort of helps you to forget all the crazy, rainbows and unicorns thoughts you had.

So very thankful God saw fit to allow Jim and I to have 4 precious children.  So very thankful He saw fit to have me home with them.  It's been SO much harder than I expected.  Being a wife and a mom is definitely a full-time job.  Praising him for these lives.

July...

Coffee Face

The Fall

Look Out World

G and A with their Chicken (thanks, Katie :-)

Happy B.Day, Daddy.

Goof Troops

FINALLY "bigger"

Father and Son

Cousins are Awesome

15 Years...

Sisters

Goofing in the Ocean

Daddy's B.Day @ Penn's Creek

Buddies

Daddy's B.Day...We took way too many pics, Jules.

Pants going down...

Hope this never gets old for you, Cole.

Remembering

Found these photos today on the video camera... :-)

Love seeing "the bigs" smiling like this :-)

  

Love Watching Him Play this Game

Gabriel's crib at the orphanage.  Ana's is below Gabriel's.

Ana's crib at the orphanage-Gabriel's is beside hers.

Sunset in Addis

We couldn't get over the scaffolding.

A's and G's Nannies

Laundry at the Orphanage

:-)

Ana-about 1 yr.

The Meltdown!

Typically on days like this, I send the grandparents an email, as a means of therapy for a very longggggggg day in the Laubach household.  Figured I'd add photos and document it, so we can look back on this day with "fond" (insert sarcasm here) memories.  

Here's the story behind the title of this post:  

So, I love to make meals for other families.  It's a way I can pour out, outside of family, without leaving the house.  Well, here's the little secret.  I'm not really all that great at multi-tasking.  Something inevitably seems to go wrong when I'm preparing a meal for another family.  I tend to burn something, ruin something in our kitchen, have a break-down of my own at the pressure of it all.  Yes, I'm a perfectionist.  I'm like a reallyyy messy-perfectionist.  I have no idea how these traits go together.  Anyway, this time was going to be different.  I prayed.  I really did.  I asked the Lord to make this a good meal for the other family (and ours).   I was not going to stress.  I was not going to drive my family INSANE with my pursuit of perfection in a meal.  Clearly perfection was not the result: 

EXHIBIT A: 

Here's the story:  

I'm making an italian bread recipe that I don't normally make, all excited b/c I actually remembered that my bread recipe doesn't work well with sandwiches-too soggy.  I put the dough in the oven to rise around 2:00.  Fast forward to 3:00.  I preheat the oven to 425 degrees! in preparation for dinner potatoes.  I didn't realize until I opened  the oven door to see smoke pouring out and ooze running down the cracks of the oven, that I had dough rising in the oven.

You know when you see something totally unexpected and you're trying to make sense of it all and you freeze?  Weeeellll, let's just say, I was frozen.  I was trying to figure out what the ooze was, all the while subconsciously praying that time would reverse and this.did.not.happen.  Jim is literally yelling at me, "Get it out!  Get it out!"  I had no idea how Get It Out!  and I tell him such.  Moving into action, realizing I'm not going to do a thing to fix this, he grabs potholders or towel or something and pulls the entire rack out of the oven.  Julia and I are still standing and staring, mouths hanging wide open.  Upon burning himself, Jim says some choice words %^%$#@, which is probably all that Julia will remember from the whole thing, (Jim says it was probably a topic at youth group last night), and yells,
 "OPEN the DOOR!".
 I'm like, "yea, somebody open the stinkin' door!"
 Then I realize he's yelling at me to open the door.
 I get the door open and he places the verry melted conglomeration of oven rack, bowl, and dough onto the firewood.

Here's the best part:  He says, "I think this one's okay", referring to the one on the right.  Okay, I can be a Debbie Downer and see the glass totally empty, but seriously.  However, realizing I'm a total drama queen and my husband is often the voice of reason, for a split second, I actually considered that it might be okay until I looked at and smelled the "one on the right".  Um, no.  This would not do.


 I consider going to buy the rolls but my mom's voice in my head reminds me that I like to cook things the long way (this time, the veryyyy long way) for people, instead of buying them.  So, after the chaos, we have a very quiet, crickets chirping dinner.  Mom's trying really hard not break down.  We need to be at Julia's b.ball game by 5:15, so I start rushing around, realizing I need oven cleaner, new bowls, a bread making miracle.  That's when PINTEREST pops into my head.  Pinterest has an answer for everything.  I look for "oven cleaner", thankful to find one that uses the things I already have.  The phone rings.  I'm on the phone (I have no idea why common sense didn't kick in and tell me to let the answering machine pick up for the moment.)  So, I'm on the phone and Ana starts LICKING the oven cleaner made of dishwashing detergent and baking soda.  Just before putting it on her lips, she whispers, "Mmmm, yummy."  Oh my.  In her defense, it was a pretty pink color, pretty much the color of a strawberry Jolly Rancher.

I could go into detail about how in the midst of my ripping around, after the disaster, ripping Cole's only piece of posterboard for his communications project, by ramming a chair into it.  I could tell about hot tears streaming down my face as my son gives me a hug and cleans up the dirt I had just swept on the floor.  My son, cleaning up my dirt.  Hmmm.  I could tell about my husband cleaning up mess after mess after mess in the kitchen after this incident.  Grace.

Instead, I'll go into detail about how my husband grabbed my face, looked into my eyes and said, "We.love.you.  Not for anything you do.  Not for your performance.  We love you for you."  I wanted to draw back and say "I wasn't even thinking that."  But he knows.  He knows me.  He knows how something like this can be twisted and turned in my mind until I have myself believing I'm a total loser.  How I love him.

I'm happy to say that at 6:00am this morning, we have 14 mini-loaves of bread on our counter. Thank you, Lord.  This is grace.

And...for your viewing pleasure, grandparents.  Here's is Houdini's latest.  Reminder:  the ONLY thing in A's and G's bedroom is two beds, a dresser, and a few toys in a draw due to several other near catastrophic disasters stemming from their ability to plot and plan at a very young age.  The closet is locked, due to the too-many-times to count incidences of ALL of the clothing from the closet being put on a huge pile in the middle of bedroom.  The outside door has a lock on it, too.  It's a chain lock-the door is open a crack and we can hear them.  (I recently told one of the girls from church this and you should have seen her face ;-)  I know-it sounds um mean?, but the alternative (Gabriel sneaking out and hangin' out down at Sheetz unbeknownst to us, at 3:00 in the morning,  is not cool with us.)  Because the closet door is locked, G can no longer pull the very flimsy, plastic, sock and underwear drawer out, stand on it, reach through the door, and undo the lock.

So...he's resorted to this!  He moved his.ENTIRE.bed just to stand on it to get the lock open.  Is this normal?! :-)

And finally, the following photo is for Cole James.  A reminder of the fun we had at the drive-thru. 'Cause, well, I often say, my circuit is fairly small:  Home, Mc.D's, Wengers, Weis, church, Dollar Store.  Not necessarily in that driving order.  In case you're wondering what I think of all this, 

Yep, I love my life.  So blessed.