E-mail from Haiti

I finally broke down and e-mailed the orphanage to ask if they had gotten Vivine's passport. (You will recall that about three weeks ago they said it would take one week.) Here is the response:

(The lawyer) kept going back and they'd say it wasn't ready (he went several times). He got pushy and they said "Oh, there is a problem with a paper" so he asked to see it (or demanded to see it), fixed it and can pick the passport up next week. Oh Haiti!!!!!!!!

Oh Haiti indeed! Well, it takes four to six weeks to get a U.S. passport, so I guess the Haitians are doing good if they can pull it off in three. We'll see...

The last few miles

"The higher you climb on a mountain, the harder the wind blows." - Sam Cummings

Just about every day now, someone asks me whether I am "getting excited" about Vivine's homecoming. Of course, my answer is, "Yes." What else would I say? But the real answer is a little more, well, complicated.

I was definitely excited two years ago when we started the process. The day we mailed our adoption application (in August 2007), PC and I took photos of each other standing at the mailbox, envelope in hand. We had Christmas-morning smiles on our faces. I have never run in a competitive race, but I imagine the excitement we felt at the beginning of the process was what runners feel at the starting line of a marathon: part adrenaline, part enthusiasm, part giddyness.

Right now, I feel like a marathon runner at mile 22 or 23. I am exhausted. My energy from the beginning of the race is all used up. I know the finish line is close, but I can't see it yet, and I don't even have the will to visualize myself crossing it. I can only think as far ahead as the next step - the next workday, the next worship service, or the next time someone asks about the adoption. I don't know whether I have it in me to make to the finish, but I know I can at least make it one more step.

Lately, I have become a little self-conscious about being a downer. Whenever I give someone an update on our adoption, I can hear the "mwa-mwaaahhh" music start playing in my head. I just want you all to know that my life has plenty of rainbows in the midst of all these adoption storm clouds. PC and I have a general rule: Don't let the fact that we don't have Vivine spoil a perfectly good meal. Here are some of the happy highlights:

In two weeks, I'm graduating from the PMBA program. I'm celebrating with massage, dinner out and a pool party the next day. Woo hoo!

PC and I have a massive watermelon vine growing in the backyard. We love going out to ogle over its size and count the little melon babies. So amazing!

Last Friday night, three of my college girlfriends let me host "Godfather Girls Night." I was in Heaven watching my favorite movie with my pals! The best part was that one of them had never seen The Godfather, so I got to explain all the plot details and show off my vast knowledge of the Corleone Family Underworld. Quote of the night: "Anytime you get in the car and Clemenza is in the backseat, you're in trouble."

I'm just sayin'. Ask me about any of those things - school, watermelon, or Godfather - and I promise there will be no "mwa-mwas."

Turning to the Russkies for comfort.

Interesting fact about me: I got an incidental bachelor's degree in Russian Studies while also studying journalism at the University of Missouri. I didn't set out to major in Russian. I started taking the classes to fulfill my foreign language requirement, then decided to take some electives in Russian. That led to a semester abroad in Moscow. When I got back, I realized I had elected my way into 30 hours of Russian credit, which was almost enough for a BA.

One thing I love about the Russians is their understanding of human nature. They really get people. Take this quote from "The Brothers Karamazov," by Fyodor Dostoevsky, which I am now reading for the third time:

"Beggars, especially noble beggars, should never show themselves in the street; they should ask for alms in the newspapers. It is still possible to love one's neighbor abstractly, and even occasionally from a distance, but hardly ever up close."

That statement is just so heartbreakingly true, even today. When I read a thick Russian novel, it lifts me up from my daily life to a higher vantage point. From there, I can see people and problems as they really are, which is typically much less significant and troublesome than I have made them out to be. I could never make it on a deserted island with just one item. I would have to have two: Dostoevsky and the Bible. OK, make that three since I have to have Snuggles II.

As far as the adoption is concerned, I might as well be on a deserted island right now. We've had no news whatsoever from Haiti this week. I'm a little distressed, but not yet in despair. I've got the comfort of two good books and a soft teddy bear, which can go surprisingly far when one is trying to keep hope alive.

The Sister Song

This little munchkin...


Photo of Peapod on her 5th birthday - 10 years ago.

...turned 15 today! Happy birthday, Peapod!

Every year on my little sister's birthday, I can't help but think that I got the best present of all. I grew up reading great sister stories like "Little House on the Prairie" and "Little Women." While I love my Bubba, I always felt a little deficient in the girlhood department for lack of a sister. I was like Laura without Mary, or Jo without Meg, Beth or Amy. Finally getting a sister at age 13 was a dream come true.

One of the best sister moments was when I realized Peapod could sing. She must have been 1 year old when she started waving her hands in the air and cooing "Eeee-ahhhh-eeeee-ahhhh." Either Bubba or I (can't remember which) figured out she was singing the "Itsy Bitsy Spider." From there, I quickly helped Peapod expand her repertoire to include "Jesus Loves Me," "I Say a Little Prayer for You" by Dionne Warwick, and "Did I Shave My Legs for This?" by country starlet Deanna Carter.

But the best song of all was one we wrote ourselves to commemorate our sisterhood. "The Sister Song" will live forever in Hedgpeth family lore, I hope. On one occasion, I taunted my brother with the Sister Song by saying something really mean about how sisters were better than brothers and we had a song to prove it. I want to go on record as saying I'm sorry, Bubba. The Sister Song should never be used for evil, only good.

So, at risk of embarrassing myself and Peapod, too, here is my best one-take, iSight rendition of the Sister Song, filmed this very night in my St. Ann living room. It is much cuter when a 3-year-old is singing with you.



Happy Birthday, Sissy!

Photo finish

I had a few rules for myself when I started this blog. First of all, use photos whenever possible. Photos make it fun. Second, write about events, not opinions. Nobody really cares to hear what someone else thinks unless it is going to make them feel smarter or sexier. Also, update the blog at least once a week. And, finally, never start a blog by saying, "There's not a whole lot going on right now..." If there's not a lot going on, then why write?

I've been having a hard time following the rules lately, but I'm resolved to get back on track. Here is a photo I took of myself just now:


"You people are hurting me."

I had a crap day at work. The kind where you have to hold back to urge to scream at people all day long. I wondered what I looked like when I was all frustrated, so I closed my eyes, made my frustrated face, and opened them just in time to take the picture.

Wow. I have almost the exact same mad face as my dad. Freaky.

So, that's what happened today. I got mad, I took a picture of it, and I posted it on the blog. It is seriously time for me to have a kid.

Parenting rules!

When Vivine finally arrives home, (soon, we hope!) PC and I will have the unique task of teaching a four-year-old what it means to live in a family. Children who continuously live with their birth families learn this lesson a little at a time throughout their first two years of life. Because we didn’t live with Vivine during those, we will be very intentional about helping her develop an exclusive attachment to Chad and me as her parents.

Children have an “exclusive attachment” when they trust Mom and Dad to provide for all of the needs in their life, including food, safety and love. These children understand the difference between their parents and the other adults in their lives, and they go to their parents first to get their needs met. Children who are not exclusively attached feel anxious all the time. They might not look it; in fact, they often appear “well-adjusted” because they adapt like chameleons to a wide variety of adults and situations. In reality, though, they are like ships floating from wave to wave without an anchor or a port to call home.

Here are some things PC and I plan to do to form an exclusive attachment with Vivine, along with ways that our close friends and family can help:

We will limit the number of visitors in our home. We plan to spend at least a few weeks at home with no visitors at all when Vivine first arrives. After that, we will introduce Vivine to her grandparents and extended family, and then to her community, including church. If you stop by our house during the first few weeks, either PC or I will greet you at the door and set up a later time for you to come visit.

We will not readily “share” parenting tasks with other adults. When a new baby comes, family and friends have fun taking turns holding, feeding, dressing and bathing baby. They see this as a chance to bond with the baby and give mom and dad a break. Though it might be tough, PC and I have resolved to do all of those parenting tasks by ourselves so Vivine can more quickly come to trust that we will provide for all her needs. Either PC or I will feed, dress, bathe, comfort, and hold Vivine at all times until we are confident in her exclusive attachment. Even simple things, like tying a shoe or fixing a hair barrette, are opportunities for PC and I to prove we will always be there for her. Our family and friends can help by redirecting Vivine to either PC or me when she wants something, especially food, potty, or affection. A simple, “Why don’t you ask your mommy?” or, “I bet your mommy would love to hold you right now,” is all it takes. That also means, at least at first, no lap-sitting with any adults besides PC or me.

Already, I feel more confident as a parent having written this little column. I also feel extremely blessed because PC and I completely agree on those three parenting strategies and a few more I haven’t written down. If anyone is curious about any other aspects of our family, please ask us now. We are glad to answer the questions of people who want to support our journey as a family, but we might not have the time or energy to do so after Vivine comes.

Forward progress

They made it! They made it! Vivine and the orphanage boss made it to downtown Port-Au-Prince and back safely. The Immigration Office agreed to issue Vivine's passport on July 14. From there, our dossier goes to the Embassy for approval from the U.S. Consulate, and, finally, to the visa office. Today I actually downloaded the visa application. Compared to the other forms we have completed, it is so short! Only four pages. Two years of drama comes down to four little pages.

The people at House of Hope think it will only take two weeks to get the visa after the passport is issued. I have learned, however, to at least double any estimates given by anyone involved in the adoption process. I predict it takes four weeks to get the visa. Four weeks from July 14, which is a week away, so five weeks total until...wow!

PC and I will wait to go to Haiti until right before the visa appointment. The U.S. Embassy will e-mail us to tell us when the time and date of the appointment one or two weeks in advance. Then, it's off to Haiti!

I'm planning to take nine weeks off of work for the adoption. After that, we'll see. Right now, the plan is for me to work three days a week when I return, but many details remain undecided in that plan. (Pray it all works out!)

Oh yeah, I have four weeks left in my master's program. So it would work out nicely to head to Haiti right after graduation. But I don't want to hear all your, "See, God had the perfect plan for you, I just knew everything would come together in his time, blah, blah, BLAH." Save it for when I actually get my kid here. While most of the last two years has been lovely, the whole adoption-waiting part of it was HELL. The Bible says, "No discipline at the time seems pleasant..." and it's right! The second part of the verse talks about how, in the end, discipline bears Godly fruit in your life or some such, but we aren't quite to that part yet. I'm not ready to thank God for two years of self-doubt, loneliness, anxiety and frustration. But I have a feeling that I will be soon.

Pax Lynde-ana

Until not too long ago, the chapters of my life story described one slightly humorous disaster after another. Once in college, I locked my keys in the car twice on the same day. When I was a cub reporter, I once I confused the names of cop and criminal and published a story accusing a state trooper of possessing crack cocaine. At the ripe old age of 23, I hit my head on a shelf and it left a scar right between my eyes. And who could forget the time I got on the wrong bus and ended up walking 1.5 miles to work in the rain?

In the past year, though, things have changed, and not by accident. With the inspiration of a few friends, the instruction of the Internet goddess FlyLady, and the motivation of my impending motherhood, I am starting to get It together. By It, I mean whatever it is that enables one to get through the day gracefully and in control. My mother-in-law has It. My BFF Kelly has It. My former teen Bible study leader, Janice Henry, has It. And I am finally starting to get It.

It is about letting go of perfection and allowing things to be good enough. It is about having the confidence to manage your affairs a little at a time and trusting they will all turn out OK in the end, instead of waiting to do anything until a crisis happens so you can play the hero. It is about extending yourself the same grace you give the people you love.

So, how do I know that I'm starting to get It? This morning, I looked in my weekend purse for my keys and couldn't find them. (My weekend purse is smaller and sparklier than the big ol' bucket bag I take to work during the week.) I looked on every surface of the house for my keys. I went out to the car to make sure I hadn't locked them in (I hadn't), then I came back in and retraced my steps from last night. Finally, I looked in my work purse, and there they were, right in the little side pocket with my lip gloss.

This is HUGE, people. It means that, at some point last night, I thought ahead to the next day, realized I would need my work purse, and put my keys right where they belonged for the upcoming situation. I don't even remember It. It. Just. Happened. And It is starting to happen more, all over the place.

I have not handed in a late homework assignment all year. In June, I sent a member of my family a birthday card on time. I watered all of PC's plants regularly while he was on vacation, and I remembered to give the dog his heartworm pill before PC did. The only downside to all of this grace and control is the lack of entertaining stories. It's like studying the Pax Romana in history class: "Everybody lived happily in their gorgeous homes....zzzzzzzzzzzz." There is a reason all the great stories are about war, not peace.

Oh, there's still plenty of war in my life, but it's all on the inside. The adoption has kneaded my heart and my head like dough. I remember my Aunt Jeanie teaching me to make bread a few years back. I thought I would could never get the dough to absorb the giant mound of flour she had poured out on the counter. Just when I thought I was done kneading, she would say, "Oh, I think you can get in a little bit more." That's how I picture God sometimes these days. I'm crying out, "Enough already!" and God responds, "Oh, I think you can take a little bit more." I sigh because I know, just like Aunt Jeanie, God's right. I can take it, especially now that I've freed up the chunk of my soul that was previously consumed with solving the crisis of the day.

All the Single Ladies

So, how did my week as a single lady go? Let's review my predictions:

Prediction One: I would practice my Beyonce moves in the mirror in our bedroom until the dog started barking at me.

I wrote that prediction as a joke, but it actually came true at 7 p.m. today. Turns out, Bear does not like it when I try to shake my booty. Does anyone else's dog do that? Does anyone else try to dance like Beyonce when they're home alone? Don't lie; of course you do. Yeah, you. Busted.

Prediction Two: I would keep the laptop computer by my side at all times, including while asleep in bed.

I only took the laptop to bed once during a nap. I've come a long way.

Prediction Three: I would go to Walgreens after 9 p.m. on a work night to buy ice cream, lip gloss and a cleaning product.

That prediction only half-way came true. I went to Walgreens at 9 a.m. today and bought a new toilet bowl brush and a copy of Vanity Fair.

Prediction Four: I would stay up late watching either "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List" or "Sex and the City" (but only the edited-for-TV version).

Came true on the first night. Kathy G. was hangin' with Paris Hilton, who taught her how to walk like a spoiled rich girl. Since Bear won't stand for booty shakin', I hope he will at least let me practice my Paris walk.

Prediction Five: I would make a big mess and then cry because I have to clean it up.

Five days on my own and not one tear! I haven't even made any very big messes. I am such a big girl.

Prediction Six: If I remembered trash day, I would nearly kill myself pushing our over-filled recycling can down the steep driveway early in the morning.

I did remember trash day (being the big girl that I am). I even put the cans to the curb the night before. Dragging them back up the driveway in my heels after work was a pain, but at least I didn't fall.

Also this week, I babysat for a friend, had the neighbors over for a visit and gave the dog a haircut. Can you say, "Donna Reed?" Except I bet she didn't have to practice - she just HAD the moves.