Well, friends and neighbors, we finally did it. Licensing agent came this morning and cleared me to care for children! WoooHoooo!! Not exactly sure how many I am licensed for--she didn't fill in that blank on the form. But seeing as how I'm not going to fill up on Monday, I don't suppose it matters. I'll find out eventually. Thank you all for your support.
I am thinking... about Wednesday's visit from licensing.
I am thankful for... a happy day with eight children and a return of Internet service after a two week hiatus.
I am wearing... this is what I love about childcare: my uniform. I am wearing new Eeyore scrubs with a thermal underneath. Cute, professional and, most importantly, comfy.
I am remembering... or trying to remember where I stuck all of our non-Christmasy home decor items so that I may pull them back out and put away our seasonal trimmings.
I am going...to visit an elderly friend sometime this week. I've been meaning to do it for months. I'm going. I am.
I am currently reading... suffering under my promise not to start a new book until the daycare opened.
I am hoping... please, please, please, let the state write me a license to care for children on Wednesday.
On my mind...the daycare. Tired of that one part of my life draining so much of my thoughts, focus, and concern--and we haven't even opened yet!
Noticing that...Cara is getting around so much better these days. She is really not that far behind developmentally.
Pondering these words... "The only time success comes before work is the dictionary." But someone assure me. Success does--eventually--follow, right?
From the kitchen... crock pot full of Taco Soup.
Around the house... four children watching new DVD. Cara talking to herself. Outside this circle of family, general order presides. We hosted a HUGE Christmas Eve party (so of course, I cleaned like crazy), and then quit the place the following morning only returning late last night.
One of my favorite things~high-speed internet. I can't lie. It is good to be back.
I have 80 ornaments to make. Four more sets of fleece jammies to sew. Fifty Christmas cards to address. Who knows how many presents need wrapping behind the Sunday School door marked, "Esther"? I have one project to paint and one memory book to make. I'm supposed to bake sausage balls for Abby's class party. And what am I doing? Sitting here blogging. I need an intervention.
I appreciate your respectful comments on my blog post "Find My Family." However, perhaps you did not read it carefully. I did not say "If you have those feelings, I will have failed." You did. I said, "If they cherish the fantasy of being found by them, I would most assuredly feel as though I have failed." I was speaking in the context of life-long dreams, ultimate ambitions, singular obsessions, not natural curiosity and interest. Of course they will wonder! But, if my daughters' whole adult life is wrapped around a consuming passion to be re-united with their biological family members, I will feel as though I've failed--particularly since, in their case, it will most likely prove impossible. It is my blog, and I'm going to be honest. My goal is for them to be comfortable with that aspect of their history, not DEFINED by it. There is a difference. My husband and I talk often about their birthmothers and encourage them to include them in drawings of our family. We gave them their birthmother's names so that they would always have a piece of their past with them. I will not feel threatened by any future desire to search for them or other biological relatives; on the contrary, I will help them search. The comparison of me to the mother whose "heart would break" if her son searched is actually laughable. I've known adoptive moms like that--whose world would fall apart if their children searched--but it's not who I am. Regardless, I'm going to be o.k. I anticipate my daughters will know this about me; it is their emotional health I'm concerned about. If you took the time to read my other posts about adoption you would have known that.
*Three presents--The children each have three presents under the the tree. Three gifts, because the Christ child only had three gifts. The other day, Abby asked if they could have more than three (actually they get a Santa present, plus the TONS of gifts from extended family) since they had been very good this year, and I told her that as soon as they deserved more presents than Jesus, they could have more than He had. They laughed, "Awww, Mom, that will NEVER happen." My point exactly. *This one developed just by chance. One year, I ran out of name tags. I wrap each child's gift in a certain wrapping paper (i.e. all of Ian's gifts are wrapped in the red ornament paper, Marina's in the green tree paper, etc.). I cut a little square of paper and adhere it to a poster next to their names. We don't have to spend time searching for the name on Christmas morning. We know at a glance whose is whose. This year, I'm keeping the decoder poster top secret. They don't know which paper is theirs. It has been fun hearing them discuss the possibilities, "I think mine is the purple Santa paper." "Maybe K has the snowmen paper." They will have much harder time guessing their gifts. *Holiday hookie--I let the children stay home from school and do holiday baking. This is a tradition I grew up with. It was always a favorite, because any other time of year, my mother was a stickler for school attendance. I felt so special being at home when I wasn't sick.
Please tell me this looks like a juke box. Lie if you have to. I have fifty+ people--half of whom I do not know--coming to my house tomorrow for a "Fabulous Fifties" party for my mother-in-law, and this is supposed to be her cake. As cake decorating goes, it is not one of my finer achievements, and the longer I look at it, the more convinced I become that it doesn't remotely resemble a juke box. Randy is no help. He keeps prancing around it, crying, "It's a juice box, Mommy, a juice box cake for Grandma! It is a BIG juice box!"
I added the music notes to hopefully tip folks off. I can just hear myself tomorrow night:
"Actually, it's a juke box."
"Umm..no...it's a juke box."
"Well, it is supposed to be a juke box. You know, from the fifties?"