My foster care blog posts will be moving to a new site

Mon, 26 Sep 2016 23:39:00 GMT

I'm putting this up for any blog subscribers who are interested in continuing to hear about our foster care journey. For the sake of privacy (ours and our foster children's) we have put together a new separate blog featuring only fostering posts. I transferred all my previous foster care related blog posts over to the new site and deleted them from Varblow.net. This new blog does not have our names anywhere. If you would like to follow the new blog please email, Facebook message, or comment here and I will send you the link to the new site. I am not posting the link here to protect our privacy. Feel free to share the posts from the new blog, Just don't tag me if the post is public.

If You're Not a Mom You Probably Don't Want to Read This

Mon, 13 Apr 2015 20:14:00 GMT

As a teenager I remember standing in the doorway of the bathroom holding a sick little sister while my mom mopped up the vomit this sister had just projected across the floor. I was thinking, Oh my gosh, I can’t ever be a mother because I could never in my life clean another person’s vomit. I just couldn’t. I think I would die.

Twenty years later, and now with six kids of my own, I found myself about to disembark a cruise ship. It was 9:00 a.m. on a sunny Florida morning as the elevator doors opened to a lobby full of people. Without warning, my two year old erupted. The multihued contents of his stomach were suddenly everywhere: cascading in waterfalls down my shirt, beading in my son’s thick lashes, pooling in my sandals.

My husband and I just stood for a long moment looking at each other. He on the outside of the elevator, Me standing stunned inside holding Jacob as the last remnants of his breakfast (and apparently yesterday’s lunch and dinner) dripped down the glass elevator walls.

“Bleh.” Jake said, blinking. “Bleh!”

A wonderful feature of this cruise was that they took care of our luggage for us the night before. So nice and hassle free, as long as you don’t find yourself covered head to toe in vomit as your extra clothes are being efficiently bussed ahead of you to the airport.

Fifteen minutes found Jake washed and in his spare outfit, me changed into Matt’s button down shirt, and Matt in his undershirt approaching the man clad in a surgical mask, rubber gloves, and plastic apron who was mopping out the elevator. (Another bonus feature of the cruise: They clean up vomit for you.)

“Uh, yeah, my kid is the one who puked. Sorry about that. Um, do you have an extra bag we might have in case he does this again? Thanks.”

Ten minutes more and we were at the front of the customs line. This time I got a little warning in the form of tummy tremors and had the bag pressed to Jake’s little face as the customs guy asked Matt what we kind of souvenirs we spent $30 buying. Then he looked through our documents.

Agent: “And which one is Jacob?”

Matt: “The one over there hurling on my wife.”

A moment later the agent held up my passport picture and squinted, having trouble reconciling the clean kempt woman in the photo with the puke covered one giggling uncontrollably on the floor appearing to suffocate a toddler with a plastic bag.

He didn’t detain us.

I discretely threw the bag away, hoping the worst was over as we boarded the bus, found seats and were greeted with TV’s showing all the beautiful places we could travel for our next vacation. I breathed a sigh of relief as the minutes passed and bus merged onto the B-line heading toward the Orlando Airport.

“Look, Mom,” my twelve year old said, pointing at a screen. “Next time we can go to The Andes and see wild chinchillas.”

Then the sounds began. Not soft tummy rumblings this time, oh no, loud, guttural, phlegm clearing retches like you’ve never heard before. Only Jacob can make noises like these, and he does it without the least concern and apparently no discomfort.

“Nothing is like the comfort and relaxation of a Disney vacation…” The TV assured us.

The man in front of us politely feigned deafness as Jake continued to make sounds that can only be described as an elephant with a hairball. The polite man’s wife turned to stare in horror, clutching her large Coach purse to her chest and scooching as far away as the seat would allow. I tried unsuccessfully to squelch the giggles as five year old Elena broke into a loud round of Let It Go just as Jake made a colorful contribution to the small clear baggie which was the only container I had left.

“It’s funny how some distance makes everything seem small…,” she sang as the Coach purse lady cringed into the wall.

“Blaackcht,” went Jake, echoing across the bus. “Braaacchtaguuupt!”

“…Let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymoooore!”

The volcanic experience didn’t bother Jake; he blinked again and smacked his lips -- a true two year old, impressed by his own bodily functions. Polite disregard from the husband. Repulsed stares from the wife. Hysterical laughter from me.

“Couldn’t keep it in heaven knows I’ve tried!” sang Elena.

I hoped no one on the bus was headed to the same state as us.

18 Proven Ways to Prolong an Argument with your Spouse

Sun, 18 Jan 2015 01:50:00 GMT

There are so many tried and true ways to keep an argument going with your spouse. I was shocked the other day to realize that I have yet to read an article on the most effective methodology. Not to worry, the gap has been filled!

I gathered input and created an itemized list for you. Here are the best eighteen ways to keep those disagreements escalating. Thanks to my many friends and family members for their advice, contributions, and for even giving the occasional demonstration. ;)

Never, ever begin a discussion with prayer. This could open your heart to your spouse’s perspective and potentially derail your argument before it gets off to a good start.
In the same vein, never stop an argument to pray. You don’t want your heart to be softened when you’re about to go in for the kill.
Turn the subject as quickly as possible to your spouse’s major recurring faults and away from the topic at hand.
Be sure that you are both thoroughly sleep-deprived. Since Ephesians tells us not to let the sun go down on our anger, we must always take this to literally mean never go to sleep angry. Fighting when you are both tired will lower your tolerance and help you to take your disagreement beyond the current issue as quickly as possible.
Be sure to use broad general statements like “you always” and “you never.” Keep an arsenal of unrelated examples from various points in your relationship to support these broad general statements.
Try not to apologize. If you really feel that you must, be sure to do so in a qualified manner, “I’m sorry if you felt that way.” This keeps the blame squarely on your spouse while giving you the ammunition of having apologized first.
When your spouse is talking, don’t waste time listening. Be sure to spend that time formulating your defense and counter attack.
Don’t listen to the words that your spouse is speaking, rather point out that they interrupted you, used a mean tone of voice or yelled. This works like lighter fluid on smoldering charcoal.
Misinterpret what is said wherever possible.
If your spouse asks you to postpone the discussion until you’ve both calmed down, you should, of course, refuse.
Never give in or concede a point, unless it’s part of your plan to appear conciliatory while secretly baiting your spouse into saying something they shouldn’t.
Call names and say insulting things. Comparing them to their parents, one of the children, or a long dead dictator is especially effective.
Leave in the middle of the argument. Punctuate your exit with a nicely slammed door.
Leave your spouse crying and go play a video game. She just needs time to calm down.
Take him leaving the room as a personal affront and not as a need for a break from the drama.
If your spouse starts crying be sure to have a sudden unconquerable urge to laugh. If you mistakenly suppress it, do be sure to at least smirk a bit.
Be selfish. Everything is about you. Remember: Your spouse does things you don’t like just to offend you.
Change the topic. If it seems like you’re resolving the issue, or heaven forbid, that your spouse has a valid point, reintroduce a subject from an previous unsolved argument and breathe some new life into it.

And just in case you need any help getting the argument started in the first place, here are three proven methods to get things going:

“The slow build.” This is where you give him the cold shoulder for several days to be sure he starts to suspect something might be wrong before you let him in on the problem.
“Look, honey, we have an audience!” Wait until you have friends or family over. Then start pointing out her shortcomings.
“Instant Explosion.” The moment he says something a little off, draw all possible negative conclusions from the statement, and attack.

10 Ways Parenting Prepares Me for the Zombie Apocalypse

Sun, 13 Jul 2014 18:08:00 GMT

Some of my friends are concerned about the pending zombie apocalypse. I've noticed that these are mostly my childless friends. They might want to take note of the ways that parenting has prepared me for the rise of the undead, because I'm going to have advantages they don't when it comes to the end.

Eluding Pursuit. I have experience sprinting into a room under heavy chase and getting the door closed and locked before the pursuers catch me. Will it be so different when I flee into a locked room to sharpen my zombie killing spears as opposed to simply changing my clothes all by myself? Just as my children figure out that Daddy is downstairs and can help them too, the zombies will head off in search of easier victims.
Muscle Mass. When your one year old weighs nearly a third what you do, lugging that kid everywhere gives you muscle tone. Add to that a second baby, an overstocked diaper bag, and two ton strollers and carseats, and you don’t need to work out. When the zombies come I’ve got the strength to swing my survival pack to my back with ease as I throw my AK-47 to one shoulder while fending off the undead with my machete. I won’t even break a sweat.
Olfactory tolerance. When we’re running from the zombies no one will be showering, changing, or applying deodorant. I have sons.
Fearlessness. Seeing hands reaching for me under the bathroom door doesn’t freak me out.
Endurance. When we’ve used up the gas in all the cars abandoned along roadsides by those fleeing the zombies, we’ll have to hoof it to keep ahead. Years of walking the floors at night, walking the baby around in the back of church or lecture halls to keep him quiet, walking to the playground and back every day, and chasing toddlers in circles, will have prepared me for my post-apocalyptic life on foot.
Indiscriminate Taste. As a parent I’ll eat anything, from leftovers on the highchair tray to yogurt spoon fed from a droolly toddler who just stuck his hand in it. So, when I find myself hunched down in an abandoned house finding only a can of cat food for sustenance I’ll lick that thing clean with relish.
Wakefulness. When the zombies are chasing me throughout the night, I’ll just think back to going to bed after the baby gives in to sleep around midnight, nights spent walking the floors, giving bottles, chasing away monsters, locating favorite toys, cleaning up vomit, and rising with the toddler at 5:30, and be able to keep going without hesitation, as my non-parent comrades drop off from exhaustion only to wake up to find themselves members of the undead.
Grossology. Kids are gross. Zombies are gross. You get the idea.
Preparation. If we get away from the zombies with just the diaper bag, we’ll be doing pretty well. I mean, we should be able to keep the family clothed, fed and supplied with colorful band aids for at least five days. Add to that the things we find hidden under seats in the car and we’ll be set for weeks.
Ability to take a beating. Let’s face it, when the zombies come things aren’t going to be easy. We need to be able to take a hit and keep moving. Today my one year old hit me up side the head with a boat. I saw it as his way of getting me ready for what’s to come.

The Case for Siblings

Mon, 04 Nov 2013 21:48:00 GMT

I have gotten the impression that some people think big families are accidents, as if the parents are a bit simple and just haven’t figured out how these things work, so they didn’t manage to stem the flow of children before it got embarrassing, kind of like when you wait too long to fix your cat and suddenly have ten kittens that need homes.

My husband and I each come from families with seven children. There were times as a kid when I was embarrassed to have so many siblings. I would go through sibling by sibling and try to pick which ones I didn’t want so that our family could be a more normal size. I always arrived at the same conclusion: that I liked each one and would keep them after all. When Matt and I were dating we said that we would have two to four children. We currently have two plus four children, to quote my father, “we figure it’s a good start to a family.”

It saddens me to see fewer couples choosing to have large families because coming from a big family has been an amazing blessing for me. My brother and sisters are my best friends. They are the ones I call when I need to share or laugh and when I can’t handle my grief. Beside Matt they are the ones who held me as we lost our babies last year, and they packed up the nursery so that I wouldn’t have to come home and stare into the empty cribs. After the gift of life, the greatest gift my parents ever gave me was the gift of my siblings.

It’s a gift I wanted to give my children. Our siblings share histories, parents, and memories with us in ways that no one else ever could. That helps them understand us like no one else does.

Big families are often big by design and not by accident. When my second son was born, and I lay in the hospital bed snuggling his little body in my arms, I felt that my family was complete. But, I soon found that I couldn’t justify leaving my children with just one sibling simply because I didn’t like pregnancy, labor, or lack of sleep. I struggled with this again after our daughter was born. I had my little girl. I could dress her up and teach her to sew. We would do everything together and be best friends. Family complete.

About this time one of my husband’s aunts died, leaving behind an only child, a daughter who said that in losing her mother she had lost her best friend. I realized that, if life followed a natural course, I would probably die about thirty years before my daughter, leaving her as devastated as Matt’s cousin. I knew that what she really needed was a best friend much closer to her age, otherwise known as a sister. Fortunately, God thought so, too, and we arrived at five.

As the average family continues to shrink in size, fewer people understand the unique dynamics of a big family. Relationships form differently. Here are some of my observations:

Forming bonds with siblings is just as important, if not more so, than forming them with parents. A child’s siblings will hopefully be around long after the parents have passed. Where the mother of one child may sit with her child on her lap and read a story, the mother of many will sit and read the story with two kids on her lap, one on each side, one hanging over the back of the couch, and one on the floor chewing on her foot. Those children are bonding with their mom, just like the only child, but they are also bonding with one another (well not so much the foot chewer but he’ll get there as he grows).
Big families develop kids with character. Because mom or dad cannot give each child their full attention all the time big sisters teach little brothers to tie their shoes. Big brothers teach little sisters to make cookies. The older child is learning responsibility, patience and leadership as the younger child is learning a new skill. By necessity everyone learns to share and wait their turn.
Children with lots of siblings are often very independent. Because the parents can’t be and do everything for them, they give the child freedom in things that are less important, and the kids learn to solve their own problems. While this can result in trips to grocery shop with two kids in backward pants and mismatched shoes, one dressed in a dinosaur costume, and another with a tutu on her head. The kids learn to make their own choices and the parent to let the little things go.
These kids end up with relationship skills. Each day each child in a big family is going to need to relate to each other child and their parents. That gives them some serious people skills --eventually.

When a friend asks me if I think that she should have another child I tell her two things. First of all, that she may regret NOT having another child, but will never regret having him. Secondly, I tell her that while love doesn’t divide but it multiplies, time does the opposite. The more children you have, the less time you have for each one individually. So, you need to be willing to sacrifice in other areas to have time for your kids. I wish I had added a third bit of advice: Another sibling is one of the greatest gifts you can give your children.

Taking Soap Beyond the Bathtub

Mon, 14 Nov 2011 20:56:00 GMT

How does one mom who already has more than enough to do suddenly end up in the business of making soap for charity? Especially, when she never made a bar of soap in her life before this past October? Well, it was a slippery (pun intended) slope, let me tell you.

As so many things do, it all started on youtube. In an effort to raise our awareness of those living in third world countries, one morning, during family devotions, I cued up a few videos showing the struggles of many Africans to obtain sufficient water and that, even then, the water is filthy and contaminated.

This touched my children’s hearts and led to my eleven year old’s comment, “Mom, how about we cancel our trip to Disney World in April and use the money to buy a well for an African village?” (This, of course, warmed my mommy heart, brought tears to my eyes, and made me think that maybe there was some hope for my kids turning out well after all.) Well, Grandma was paying for that trip, so that wasn’t really an option, but the discussion had begun: How could we help with this problem in Africa? And, more specifically, how could we raise the $2600 needed to provide just one well to an African village?

Ideas abounded from giving up all of our Christmas presents to Mommy and Daddy paying for it. Then the suggestion was made: Why not sell soap? We had made our first batch the previous week as a science project, so it was fresh on their minds. Soap costs about a dollar a bar to make. If we sold it for just three dollars a bar, we could sell 1300 bars and have enough to pay for a well.

And so the kids and I committed to making and selling 1300 bars of soap to raise the funds for a well for an African village, an idea easier said than done. The first thing to do was to recruit some help. My kids are blessed with nineteen cousins (so far) and twenty two aunts and uncles. It was easy to decide who to go to for that help. So, the family came together offering help with packaging, videos, soap making and sales. They took it a step further as they began to brainstorm other ways to help raise funds.

But, the day to day making soap day in and day out has fallen largely to me. Since, soap making involves lye, a caustic substance that is converted to glycerin through the process of saponification, I can’t just let the kids go off and make soap while I eat bon bons in front of the television. For the last few weeks I have lived, breathed, slept and even (inadvertently) eaten soap. The kitchen is covered in soap. The pantry is full of soap ingredients. The den has mountains of finished bars. And, we’re only at about 400!

A little over a month ago my brother-in-law Greg prophesied during the church service. I felt the words were meant specifically for me. He ended by saying that an opportunity would come up in the next few weeks and to go ahead and say yes. I feel that the soap making is a direct answer to that. I never would have thought that God would have me making soap for the kingdom, yet here I am and my relationship with him is growing throughout the experience.

Kids and worship

Wed, 28 Sep 2011 15:23:00 GMT

Every weekday morning, before beginning any other school, I gather my children on the living room couch for family worship time. Of all our daily activities, this one seems the most doomed for disaster from the start. But, stubborn woman that I am, I persist. Not being particularly musical, I cue up several youtube videos with lyrics for us to sing along with. We read the Bible, each person prays,we do some Bible memory and occasionally act out Bible stories. It should be so simple.

Alas! It's difficult to read the Bible when someone is flipping the lights on and off so quickly that you feel you're at a 70's disco. It's hard to feel close to God when one son is praying, "Lord help (my brother) to stop kicking me so that I don't have to punch him," and another chimes in with, "Help (my brother) to get his finger out of his nose."

Then, the videos: "Wait this isn't the right one! I want the one that shows the goat standing on a mountain!" "Ha, ha, that guy has a funny beard!" "Click like!" Click dislike!" "Add to favorites!" "Ooh, this one has 2 million views!" All the while, I'm trying to model the desired pious behavior, an effort I inevitably botch by declaring, rather loudly and not very spiritually, "We are supposed to praising God here! Why can't you guys just praise God?!"

Follow that with our attempts to act out the Bible story. "I don't want to be Jesus, I want to be Satan. Why can't Satan just throw Jesus off the top of the temple when he doesn't jump?" "No, Katie, Jesus can't be dressed as a princess." "I don't want to read it, can't we just listen to it on the computer? They read it better than I do anyway." This. of course, leads to a review of our favorite verse, Philippians 2:14, which my youngest son has frequently proclaimed to others with a rather red face and stringent tones, "Hey, Philippians 2:14 says, 'Do everything with out complaining and arguing!' So, stop arguing with me!"

Top it off with one of my little friends bringing me the verse he's chosen to write in his prayer journal today, "Look, Mom, Judges 15:15: 'Then he picked up a donkey's jawbone and killed 10,000 men.' See my picture? Here's Samson holding the jawbone and these are all the dead bodies. Look at the expression on that guy's face!" Sigh.

All of this often results in me sitting for long periods with my face buried in my hands, wondering why on earth I bother, and praying for the grace to keep on. But then, there are those rare moments, like several days ago when one son prayed, "Lord, please take this rain and send it to Texas; we don't really need it, and they're having a terrible drought." Or this morning, when, after several brawls across the carpet, three sincere young voices mingled briefly with my own, loudly exulting, "You are holy, holy, holy! Jesus you are! Jesus you are!" And suddenly, the question on their lips isn't, "Now, can we watch that funny video of the drunk guy that Aunt Amy showed us?" But, rather, "Mommy, why are you crying?"

Correcting Other People's Children

Thu, 07 Jul 2011 17:14:00 GMT

I stepped into the story room at the Chelsea Library as a plastic banana came sailing out of the playhouse. It was quickly followed by a second banana, an apple and some ice cream. Looking the culprits firmly in the eye, I said, “We do not throw things in the library!” Appearing mildly, chastened the two children stopped lobbing toy food across the room.

What makes the incident noteworthy is that these children, perhaps five and eight years old, belonged to someone else, someone who didn’t deem it necessary to keep tabs on her own children in a public place. Soon after, the younger child began yelling at Elena, my one year old, telling her that babies were not allowed in the playhouse and violently assisting Elena to the door. I quickly intervened, rescued my baby, and told the five year old, “We do not yell at babies or hurt them!”

Unfortunately, these minor encounters are not as infrequent as we might prefer. It seems the need to correct other people’s children presents itself somewhat often, bringing with it concerns as to what is appropriate and what is not. Each parent has their own level of expectation for their children and a personal method for dealing with misbehavior. It’s difficult to know when your interference is warranted and when to keep your nose out of things.

I, for one, have no qualms correcting the child of a parent who is not present, if their behavior is universally unacceptable. A nose picker can be ignored, a biter cannot. I didn’t always feel this way, but the longer I’ve parented, the more I’ve come to realize that we’re doing no one a favor when we overlook bad behavior. I try to speak with both kindness and firmness. I do not ever touch a child to stop a behavior unless someone (the child included) is in immediate danger. For example, the toddler about to walk off the edge of playground equipment or the two year old pinching another child would need a physical intervention if words don’t do the trick.

It is a more challenging situation if the parent is present and you feel the child needs correction. Personally, I hate it when people correct my children when I’m standing right there. The librarian who told my then two year old that he needed to stop crying or he’d need to leave the library, would have done better discuss the disturbance directly with me. The swim teacher who tells my thirteen year old to sit in time out, because she doesn’t like a certain behavior that I have no problem with, isn’t earning any appreciation from me or my son for her interference. (Though, it does give us a good chance to discuss respect for authority.)

So, my first response when a child misbehaves with the parent right there is to wait to see if the parent is going to do anything. If the parent doesn’t act and the child is really acting out, I bring the matter to the parent’s attention. Last week at the library a small child was grabbing toys from Elena, hitting her over the head with them, and pushing her over. After attempts to shield her, I had to pick her up and ask the grandmother of the offender to please keep her grandson from assaulting my daughter. The woman, highly embarrassed, explained that he wasn’t used to sharing, but was much more attentive after that.

With gray areas of bad behavior, this is more difficult. For example, a child swearing on the playground, while Daddy has a cigarette on the bench within easy earshot, isn’t really endangering anyone, just annoying everyone. In this circumstance, I am a lot more likely to call my own children to me, acknowledge the unwanted behavior, state my expectations for their behavior, and leave it at that. In any situation, I find it helpful to pray for a little wisdom and kindness before taking action. An angry attack will bring on a hasty defense, but rarely the desired change in behavior.

Yoga for "stress release"

Thu, 10 Mar 2011 01:36:00 GMT

Having informed my kids earlier in the day that they were giving up screen time for lent, I found myself in a bit of a conundrum with my husband on a business trip, five bored kids, and myself ready for a yoga workout. So, I offered the kids the choice of doing yoga with Mommy or cleaning the basement. Oddly enough, yoga won out and we were soon pushing the coffee table out of the den to allow a vast 6' by 10' space for the six of us to twist ourselves into various yoga poses.

Fortunately, no one seemed to realize that the yoga DVD should constitute screen time, and the questions never arose as to why yoga was allowed while Mario Cart was not. I instructed them to change into stretchy pants, which was followed by ten minutes of debating if jeans were or were not stretchy. We ended up with two boys in wind-pants, one in sweats, and Katie (3) and me in yoga pants, which she rocked in a way to which I could never aspire.

Two minutes in Jimmy (11) informed me that the DVD would be better named Yoga for Stress, as opposed to the true title, Yoga for Evening Stress Release. He then did the chair pose by actually sitting in a chair and somehow turned scale pose into something resembling a bicycle. Sean (12) twisted his shirt into several convoluted knots and told me that it now resembled the scanty tops of the women on the video. (Glad Daddy missed that one.) All the while Joey (8) very calmly folded himself into pose after pose, seemingly oblivious to the brother butting him over and the little sister bouncing on his back. The entire epidsode was accentuated by a smattering of soft toots which resulted from having fed them chili for dinner.

Katie and Elena took my being on the ground as an invitation to cuddles and lap-time, resulting in my getting into poses never before dreamed of by a yoga instructor, what with Katie clinging to my back and Elena to my neck and all. The girls found the lunge pose particularly enjoyable, crawling through the tunnels created by our legs, which caused a domino effect that they found pleasing. At which point Elena, taking advantage of the proximity of my chest would toddle over for an attempted nursing session. Sadly, our yoga time came to an early close with Elena going into her own version of "down dog" -butt in the air, forehead on the floor, wailing over the lack of milk issuing from my t-shirt.

I'll be writing to the Yoga Zone producers to let them know that, while we enjoyed, Yoga for Evening Stress Release and Yoga for Flexibility, we'd especially like to see, Yoga with a baby attached to your breast, Yoga with a Child Grasping Each Ankle, and of course, Yoga with Tween Boys who Would Rather Shoot the Yoga Instructor With a Sling Shot Than Relax into Corpse Pose. However, Until they get those DVD's out, I am eagerly looking forward to my ballroom dancing DVDs coming in at the library.

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