New blog post up at www.gillianmarchenko.com

Don't forget to switch your google reader etc. to my the new blog on my website: www.gillianmarchenko.com.

I have a post up today about how I met my husband Sergei in Ukraine, in honor of Valentine's Day.

Moving to www.gillianmarchenko.com. Join me!

After careful consideration, I have decided that in the interest of sanity, design, and simplicity, I will no longer post on Pocket Lint.

Instead, I will post at least once a week at www.gillianmarchenko.com. I hope that all my friends from Pocket Lint will join me over there. Please? I have so enjoyed our interactions here and look forward to continuing relationships in my new digs.

Do you spend more time with facebook than your kids?

Or, for those of you who profess faith, do you spend more time with facebook than Jesus?

I'm over at Dancing With The One You Love today confessing my addiction to social media. Would love for you to pop over and share your thoughts.

Chester and the Unbearable Burden, Parts I and II

I wanted to let you know about a play opening up tonight in the city called Chester and the Unbearable Burden, Parts I & II. This Harry Potter with a splash of Lord of the Rings parody is written and directed by a very good friend of ours named Ben Fort (a graduate of Second City's writing program). The play is family friendly, and our oldest daughter Elaina even has a small part in the very last scene! We've seen some of it at rehearsal. It's well done, hilarious, and completely appropriate for the whole family (that is, for anyone who can sit quietly and enjoy something for two hours).

Check out the acting company's website, Six Hours Short for details and a description of the show:

http://www.sixhoursshort.com/#!

And here's the show's trailer:


Please, go like their page on facebook


Where: The Atheneum Theatre, Studio #3   (2936 N. Southport Ave.)

Opening: Friday, Feb 10 at 7:30pm

Runs: Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays at 7:30pm and Sunday at 3pm until Mar 6

Admission:
General- $15
Children under 10- $10
Groups of 8 or more- $12

Athenaeum Theater Box Office 773.935.6860 or online at www.athenaeumtheatre.com

Pass this on to any Harry Potter fans!

The importance of a voice

These last two weeks, I actually sensed God's desire for me to open up more about my personal life. I've written about my struggle in telling the whole truth in the memoir I recently finished writing, and about the severity of my experience with post-adoption depression after we brought our daughter Evangeline home from Ukraine. 

A little bit of electricity zapped my fingertips as I hit the publish tab on both posts. What would people think if I put myself out there? I should just keep these things to myself.

This year, in addition to therapy and after school activities and church and writing and querying agents for my book, I've also had the privilege to speak to a handful of MOPS groups in the Chicago land area. I talk about the birth of my daughter in the former Soviet Union and her diagnosis of Down syndrome and about the grief that ensued for almost a year over the loss of the child I expected. I have other presentations about how to teach our kids to be good friends to those around us with special needs, and about loss and grief in motherhood. 

Every time I have a presentation, there is a part of me that is afraid of judgement. Maybe I shouldn't share all of me. Maybe I should just share the good Christian/ pastor's wife/ missionary parts of me and tuck away the other parts: the mom who didn't want her child. The mom who went to a bottle of Chardonnay instead of to the Lord. The mom who adopted another child with Down syndrome; a quasi stab at redemption, only to find that she, of course, was still the one who needed redeeming.

But each time, and I'm serious when I say this, I can almost hear God's voice saying, "share all of you, Gillian. Because in the hard parts, in the times you made bad choices, in your brokenness and lack of faith, I was there. And that's MY story in you."

Before I speak, I usually run to the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper to sop up the sweat underneath my arms. I smooth my hair, and look at myself in the mirror. 

I think of God's voice telling me not to waste the life he's given me. I think of one mom who may be struggling. If my voice encourages her to speak up to someone about her struggles, than sharing the ugly parts of me is more than worth it.

And I think of Polly's voice, chattering in my ear non-stop throughout the day. I think about her reciting the Star Spangled Banner with her class in the morning at school. I think about when she tells me that she loves me, and how it fills me up to the brim of my existence with thanks and praise that I get to be her mom.

I think about Evangeline. Oh, how I long to hear her voice. I anticipate it. I wait for it. And until then I stand up for her as her voice.

So, I step out in front of strangers and tell them my story, and I keep querying agnets for my book, and I keep writing down my rambling thoughts here. 

I include the embarrassing parts for sure. But I also include the best parts, how Polly and I are crazy in love now. How thankful I am to be Evangeline's mom. How awed I am that God knew I needed to be broken in such specific ways in order to be used for his purposes and for his glory alone.

Last night, I got an email from someone who attended one of my talks in September thanking me for my willingness to be vulnerable and for sharing my dark moments, thoughts and actions in my presentation. She is a mother to a child with special needs. Here's a little bit of what she wrote:

 

What you said made me feel “normal”, connected and accepted.  (I’m tearing up as I write this to you, even now, because it meant so much to me and I understand how difficult it is to be honest like that with others…even if they are “strangers”.)

That's really the point of why I do what I do. 

I have a voice, and I am learning not to be afraid to use it.

What about you? How are you using your voice?

The wrong diagnosis, one mother's struggle with post-adoption depression

 One of the first times I was with my daughter in Ukraine in 2009

Second opinion

Last Thursday I took Evangeline, our adopted daughter from Ukraine, five years old, diagnosed with Down syndrome, to a developmental pediatrician.

"I heard this doctor is good at what he does, and I want his opinion about Evie's lack of development since she's been home from Ukraine," I affirmed rather loudly to my husband Sergei in an effort to hide that really, I was taking Evangeline to this doctor for a second opinion.

A year ago, Evie was evaluated at the Erikson Institute here in Chicago for Autism. At the time, her main activities included rocking back and forth, sitting on her bed, and looking at a light-up toy. Her eye contact was sporadic at best and she could not tolerate textured food nor touch (unless it was rough housing). I was certain we would come home with a dual diagnosis of ASD (autism spectrum disorder) and Down syndrome because almost every time I reached out to my beautiful blond little girl, my hand would get slapped.

After several appointments, Erikson concluded that Evangeline was not on the spectrum, but probably suffered from the debilitating effects of orphanage life paired with cognitive and developmental delays that can accompany Down syndrome.

But I wanted an answer

When the report came in the mail, I opened the letter while sitting on the toilet seat behind a locked bathroom door and cried. On some level, I wanted the dual diagnosis because I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Evie ground her teeth constantly, why she sought out dust and dirt to eat but refused real food. I wanted to know why she scratched her sisters when they tried to hug her, and cried at loud noises, and sat off to the side of our lives alone, most days, rocking.

But I did not get a concrete answer. I got a "keep doing what you are doing. Find more therapy opportunities, give her time to bond with your family." And slowly over the next few weeks, I started to shut down. I found it too painful to try to connect with my daughter. For months, I went through the everyday motions of caring for my family as best I could, all the while holding back from climbing into bed. I no longer attempted to bond with Evie. If she was fine being a part of our family without really being close to me, than maybe, I could live like that too.

Wrong person diagnosed

I was seeking out the wrong diagnosis for the wrong family member. Sure, it was good to have Evie evaluated a year ago. She certainly had characteristics that could point to ASD. But really, I was the one who needed the most help. I was struggling from post-adoption depression, which could have only been aggravated by a little post-traumatic stress disorder thrown in after Polly's stroke, diagnosis of Moyamoya, and two brain surgeries. After our time at the Erikson Institute, I quietly unravelled.

I have struggled with depression all my life, but alas, it is kind of like that pesky monthly period for women. Every month I am shocked that my foul mood results with menstruation. And I am 36 years old!

Depression is like that for me, too. It sneaks up on me: a few aches and pains, feeling a little down in the dumps, sleeping poorly. I fight, I do what I absolutely need to for the family and then when I can't anymore, I get into bed and I don't get out.

I started to see a doctor and a therapist, but I wasn't feeling better. I cried out to God to help me, to show me how to trust him and get back on track, but to no avail. I struggled for months, but still, somehow managed to post perky facebook stati often enough so that people outside my direct family wouldn't suspect a thing.

But I was drowning.

About three months ago, God gave me the strength to try again to get help for my depression. I went back to my doctor and let her put me on a higher dosed anti-depressant. I started seeing a different therapist and we clicked right away. I started to wake up in the morning and notice that the sun was shining.

And I saw Evangeline, a little girl considerably changed from a year ago.

Since Evie has been with us (over two years) there have been little breakthroughs here and there in our bonding. I liken them to nicking the surface of a frozen lake with a BB gun.

Now that I am above water again in life, the ice is starting to thaw. I can sit a stare at Evie for a while, marvel at her button nose, appreciate her smell, want to pull her to me.

Why the second opinion?

So, why did I take Evie for the second opinion last week?

Because I wanted to make sure that a dual diagnosis isn't in the picture for our girl. A lot of her behaviors have fallen away but she has a lot left. And although we are doing much better, I am now struggling with the guilt of that missed time when a shadow of a mother was parenting my daughter.

At the appointment, Evie climbed up into a chair, uninterested in the train set the doctor attempted to entice her with. But she laughed when he tickled her, and followed his finger as he played with her, and looked both the doctor and me in the eye almost the whole time.

I loved the doctor. He was a bit brash and un-orthodox (took a text from his wife during our interview and laughed out loud at what she wrote :). But he cut to the chase with me and it was just what I needed.

"I don't see any definite red flags regarding a dual diagnosis off the bat, of course, if you'd like, we can do a full evaluation of Evangeline to get more in-depth. But I have to ask, why are you here? You've already had your daughter evaluated at Erikson?"

"Because, well", I took a deep breath. "Because I am afraid I am not doing enough. Our other daughter got sick and ended up needing two brain surgeries six weeks after Evangeline came home from Ukraine and I. . . well, I've struggled with depression." I kind of left my answer there but in my heart I added, I am afraid that I have already failed her.

"Mrs. Marchenko, your family has been through a very difficult time these last few years. I want you to know, you are doing a good job with your kids."

I had to look away as the tears pooled in my eyes.

"And now, Ms. Evangeline," the doctor turned to Evie and let me attempt to compose myself.

After the visit to the doctor, I realized I had been looking for two things: 1) the wrong diagnosis, and 2) validation that I am the right mom for my child.

I share all of this with you because I am notorious for putting it all out there. It doesn't occur to me to keep things to myself. My husband takes issue with my need to tell people how much I spent on the sales rack at Target.

But more importantly, I share this because adoption is beautiful, but it is also very hard. I share this because  other parents and caregivers are struggling today. Post-adoption depression is real. I want you to know you are not alone. At some point, your feelings may be out of your control. Get help. There is no shame in taking care of yourself in order to care for your family.

One last thing: With God's help, we all can be the right parents for our children.

Post-adoption depression resources:
Adoptive Families
Baby Center
Adoption Issues

Jen Hatmaker, After the Airport

Why it is hard to tell the truth in my memoir

 (NOTE: I added this post to Joy in this Journey's life: unmasked linky. Read more here.)

Most of you know I recently completed a memoir and am now querying agents for representation.

So far no one's bitten. I have received a handful of polite rejections regarding my project. I suspect I will continue to get rejections for a while. There are just too many aspiring writers trying to get their work in print. Some agents claim over 100 new query letters hit their inbox every day. EVERY DAY! And so I trudge on, do my research, send the queries, and continue to work on my craft.

But I have a confession: sometimes when I get a rejection, I breathe a slight little sigh of relief. It's not that I love rejection ( I mean, come on, I was in Junior High once). It's not because I want to tell one more person in my life that I have spent over three years writing a book and it seems that no one, as of yet, wants to read it.

I breathe a slight little sigh of relief because of fear. I made a commitment to the story and to God to tell the whole truth about those first years of Polly's life. In memoir, (as in life) its a no-no to lie. When I got serious about writing our story, I knew that I would have to be real about everything that happened after Polly was born. As a missionary and pastor's wife, my response to having a child with Down syndrome was much less than Christian. The bottom of my faith easily fell out. I got depressed. I stopped showering. I drank too much Chardonnay. I struggled to love my baby.

Do I really want people to read all of that?

To tell the truth, the answer is no. I don't want people to read the whole story because I am afraid of what they will think of me. I would rather hide the hard parts of my life and let them think that I scooped up my child with special needs and said a prayer of thanksgiving for her life and moved on. I would rather them think that I am always a woman of faith, worthy of the call to be a child of God.

But Flannery O'Conner says the truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.

I would also add that truth loses its power when altered.

Even though I am afraid, I realize that my story isn't worth telling if not told in its entirety. The very essence of my memoir's power (if there is any) is brokenness. The fact that God came in and rebuilt me and my faith and my relationship with my baby after I fell apart is the real story. The redemptive story. And I am convinced the very thing people need to hear to truly get a clear, non-superficial, non-judgmental idea of Jesus.

I used to think of redemption as a one time thing. I believed in Jesus when I was sixteen years old. His payment for my sins on the cross equaled a done deal. I still believe this. It is the very core of my beliefs.

But I also believe that we are all a work in progress. There is a continual need for everyday redemption. The kind of redemption that heals a mother's heart. The kind that sets a person back up on the wagon after he has fallen off, that helps someone apologize to her kids for freaking out over spilled milk, or causes a shoplifter to put the bra in her purse back on the shelf in Target. A redemption that showed me that the child I was afraid to mother was the exact child I needed to reach depths of joy and wonder otherwise unknown in my life.

So I will keep putting myself out there. If my memoir publishes one day, not everyone will like it. There will be criticism (well deserved, I should add). There will probably even be disappointment. But most importantly, there will be the truth of everyday redemption and unexpected beauty, displayed in the birth of a child with slanted eyes and the widest smile on the planet.

And I think, that's enough.

Keep Pocket Lint?

I am debating whether or not to discontinue Pocket Lint and only publish blog posts on www.gillianmarchenko.com from now on.

The thing is, I love this place, even though I am an erratic poster.

So, what's your vote? Keep posting both places or say goodbye to Pocket Lint?

A blanket of snow

We had our first real snow in Chicago yesterday. It came late in the season, after shimmering Christmas lights had been taken down and stored away for next year. After the two-week winter break from school, a time when kids typically layer clothing and snowsuits to burrow in the snow, build forts, and come back in and sip steaming hot cocoa, had come and gone. Instead, my kids played outside with their neighbor friends during their time off in sweatshirts and light pants.

The snow started mid-morning. I noticed it falling outside my kitchen window as I rinsed out the breakfast dishes. It clung to the empty tree outside our living room. I hurried to finish my chores and make my phone calls so that I could cuddle up on the sofa with a cup of coffee and watch.

I love how a blanket of snow makes my surroundings beautiful and fresh. It reminds me of beginnings. It reminds me of starting over. It reminds me of redemption.

The snow is important to me because it was on such a day that I first realized four years ago that I was head over heels in love with my little girl who had been born with Down syndrome. Up until that morning I had loved her for sure, but it was more of a duty. I loved with fear. I loved at arms length.

But that morning; a blanketed snow morning when Polly was a baby, she and I played on the floor while the other girls were at school. We looked out the window and watched the bits of cold and ice fall from the sky. She gave me a million slobbery kisses and my heart cracked open with the most unbelievable sunlight I could imagine. It reminded me of when Lucy steps out of the wardrobe into Narnia for the first time.

And now every year the first real snow fall is the closest thing to magic in my life. When the ground is heavy with white I clear my calendar. I leave the laundry for another day. I turn off the computer. I gather my children to me and revel in their love. I thank God for cold places in my life that warrant me the outside-of-myself ability to appreciate the warmth.

I am thankful for a blanket of snow.

(Please note: I have a new website: www.gillianmarchenko.com. Thanks!)

Check out my new website!

www.gillianmarchenko.com

Big thank you to Cory Benson of Simply Design for the fabulous look!

Christmas play at church

The kids did a great job! The donkey wasn't half bad either!

Leading the way

When Polly was born and we learned of her diagnosis of Down syndrome, I grieved the child I expected. I didn't know much about Down syndrome. My mind quickly flipped to un-flattering images of a child sitting alone at recess,or a mother in her golden years walking slowly through the aisles of Wal-Mart so that her adult daughter, still a child, could keep up. Sadly, it took me a while to let my guard down and fall in love with Polly.

Polly's older sisters led the way. From the moment they met her, they dripped with love for her. They loved everything about her: "Oh, look at her pudgy little hands! Look at her wispy brown hair. Isn't she just the cutest little thing ever?" When we later explained to them that Polly had Down syndrome, and that she would need a little extra help doing things, they didn't bat an eye. "I guess it's good that God gave her older sisters then, huh, mom?" Elaina said.

Indeed.

Two years ago, when Evangeline joined our family, Elaina and Zoya took the lead once again. Elaina stayed with me for seven weeks in Ukraine until the adoption was finalized. She spent long, Kiev days tickling Evie and helping me take her outside for walks as we waited for the paperwork for the adoption to go through. Once again, I struggled, and my kids led the way.

Snapshot from today:

A toy came home in Polly's backpack today from Kindergarten. It's one of those birthday favors. You blow on it and it flings out in front of you. What fun! Polly figured it out right away, and I was thrilled that it wasn't one with sound.

A little while later while I was finishing up an email on the computer, I saw Polly bring her new toy into the kitchen. Evie was sitting up on top of the table (one of her new favorite perches in the house), kicking her feet off the edge.

"Look, Evie," Polly said, moving carefully, climbing up on the bench and then sitting down next to her on the table. "Look, Evie, it blows out," she said, and then promptly gave a demonstration. I fought the urge to intervene. Evangeline is easily spooked and she is not Polly's biggest fan. Most people love a happy, in your face five-year-old but Evangeline could do without. But I took a breath and waited to see what happened.

"You see that, Evie. It's red. It's pretty. It's fun." Polly blew on her toy again. "You like that, Evie. Do you?"

And the most amazing thing happened. Instead of reaching out and grabbing the toy. Instead of crying. Instead of getting the heck out of dodge (read: getting down off the table and away from Polly a.s.a.p.) Evie laughed.

She laughed.

Polly blew her toy again. Evie kept laughing. And for about five minutes they seemed like they were, I don't know what's the word?, playing together.

It was magical.

When Polly was born, I worried that she would feel alone but I learned quickly that her sisters would never let that happen. When Evangeline joined our family, I worried, I still worry, that we won't be able to reach her. Some days she is very far into her own world. And then today, Polly initiated a game with Evie and Evie, just a little, for a few moments, let her in. Polly had Elaina and Zoya to prod her along in her development, and now she is starting to lead the way for Evie.

The magic is now gone. Polly broke her toy because she kept twisting the blow out part. Evie stole all of Polly's pretzels out of her favorite ice-cream bowl. Polly is running circles around the house yelling, "hey, Evie, leave my snack alone" and Evangeline has climbed off the table. As I type she is eating pretzel bits off my, um, super clean kitchen floor. 

But I don't care. I'll take the five magical moments when I saw Polly work her sister mojo on Evie.

Sisters are the best therapists in the world.

The tree is up, begrudgingly

 Mom! Leave us alone!

Yea, Mom, whatever.

Zo was having fun!

 Polly made fast friends with the army of Nutcrackers.

 Dirty Face Evie! I think she had a cookie!

 Every Angle and Mary I own for Christmas has a broken arm or hand. I feel a blog post coming on!

 My kids love doing the Advent Calendar and reading this beautiful Advent Book 

(all original artwork. Check it out here.)

 No chimney at our house. The Stockings were hung on the woodwork with care...

Sergei was finally able to hang a few ornaments after messing with the lights on the, um, pre-light tree.

When we finally got to decorating for Christmas this year, two out of four kids were in bad moods and ended up in their bedrooms. Everything went up in just over an hour in the midst of fussing and frustration and when we were finished, although I am not much of a liquor girl, I was looking around for a mixed drink.

We didn't make perfect family memories this year decorating, but I did catch Zoya and Polly playing with the winter village, and Evie liked the Christmas music as long as it wasn't too loud,  and Elaina, who is 11 turning 23, had a faint smile on her face for a second or two at some point, that is until she noticed that I noticed. Ha!

Evangleline's OK, thanks for the prayers!

We saw the neurosurgeon today at Children's Memorial Hospital and he said that Evie's x-rays show that there has not been a change in the gap in her vertebrae and its stability. Thank you, God! For now, we continue to watch her to see if there is ever a change in her mobility, and she is restricted from participating in a tumbling class :), but there isn't a need for surgery as of now for her AAI. The doctor also said that there really isn't an answer for the popping in her neck.

I am very thankful that our little one, at least for today, is okay.

Thanks for your prayers!

Evie needs prayer

We need prayer for Evangeline. About a year ago she was diagnosed with something called Atlantoaxial instability (AAI), a spinal abnormality between the C1 and C2 vertebrae. It's another by-product for some kids with Down syndrome. Anyway, a year ago the gap wasn't that big and it was stable, which was great news for us because a wide, unstable gap could warrant spinal fusion surgery and months in a halo. Not fun at all.

On Sunday, while I was getting Evie ready for church she was cuddling on my lap and I noticed a pop like movement reoccurring near the top of her spine (right where her abnormality is).

I called her neurosurgeon's office on Monday about it (the same guy who did Polly's brain surgeries) and he wanted to get her in right away for neck x-rays. I have spoken to two other moms of kids with DS and AAI, and both of them said the popping isn't good, their kids had it too, and ended up needing the fusion.

So we go in tomorrow morning at 7:30am for the x-ray and then see the neurosurgeon at 9:15.

Please pray? I don't have a good feeling about this. I am really anxious today.

Evie's birthday recap

I have to say, Evangeline just wasn't feeling her birthday celebration this year. It was partly my fault. I planned her little family party too close to her bed time. After dinner, singing, brownies and ice cream, she promptly crawled out of her chair and went up to her room.

The days to follow, we tried to get her interested in openning gifts. Thankfully, Elaina, Zoya and Polly were around to help a sister out. Once the gifts were opened, Evie has enjoyed playing with her new things. She's just not so much into wrapping paper, I guess.

Sadly, I don't think I got even one shot with a real Evie smile. But I'll post some pictures anyway of my begrudging birthday girl :).

Perseverance

I had a nice little exchange with Zoya today after school.

"Hey Zo, did you have a good day at school today?" I asked, as my middle daughter crawled up into my lap, a challenging task in and of itself when a kid is nine years old.

"Yeah, it was a good day."

"Did you think about your dear, old mom at all today while you were at school?" I cuffed her under her chin, teasingly.

Zoya sat for a moment, started to shake her head no and then her eyes lit up and she changed the direction of her head movement.

"Actually, yes, Mom, I did think about you today. My teacher read us another part of the book we are listening to every day and afterwards she was talking about the main character and how he perseveres through his trials in life. And then our teacher asked us if we knew anyone who has persevered in life... and I thought of you."

"You thought of me?"

Zoya's words surprised me. Sometimes I worry that I am too open with my girls. They know too much. They know when I am struggling with my depression, or worried about Polly or Evie, or preoccupied with writing and getting my memoir published.

"Well, because you persevere, Mom. You persevered through Polly's stroke and brain surgeries and with trying to help Evie learn to talk. You persevere when you are sad and try to feel better, and you are persevering with your writing. I thought of you, Mom, because you persevere."

I grabbed Zoya to my chest and squeezed her as tight as possible. Even though it was a rainy day outside, for a second I could feel the sun on my face.

Now, I don't know if I entirely believe her. One could always do better in the area of perseverance. But hearing those words from one of my kids: she sees my struggles but she also sees my attempts to get through them and make things better. What a gift.

This nice little exchange with Zoya will keep my love tank filled for miles.

Ocotber fun!

Believe it or not, Evangeline is still not through all her birthday presents. This year she is not feeling her birthday... at all. So, pictures of her big day are coming in the next few days.

Until then, here are a few pics of us at a pumpkin patch and of the girls dressed up for a little trick-or-treating.  Enjoy!

Evangeline is five years old today! Thoughts about five years.

Today is Evangeline's birthday. She has officially joined her sister Polly in the five-year-old club.

This morning I sent Evie's favorite treat to school with her to share with her classmates: mini-Hershey chocolate bars :). Before she woke up I hung the Marchenko family birthday sign up for her in the dining room, and each time her three sisters woke up today the first thing they said was, "today is Evie's birthday! Yeah Evie!"Evangeline has been home with us a little over two years so this is her third birthday with us.

In the last two years I've had mixed emotions about Evie's birthday. This year is no different. I woke up today wondering about her birth mom. Is she thinking of Evangeline? Does she go over the day she gave birth five years ago, recalling every detail? Does she remember the moment she decided to sever her parenting rights? Does she think of it all with sadness, or hope, or confusion?

Don't get me wrong. I cannot judge Evie's birth mom. I was not in her shoes. There is no way I can know what she was thinking or feeling when she had Evangeline.

I am just glad that she had her. And I am glad that I get to share in the privilege of being Evie's mother with the woman who grew her in her womb.

Sometimes at the park while Evangeline is swinging, another mother will ask me about her.

"How old is your daughter?"

"She's almost five," I say, and the mother may look at me out the corner of her eye, because Evie more so resembles a two-year-old with her cute, tiny gymnast legs that still house baby pudge. And she doesn't talk. She still doesn't really sign. She's short and little. How can she be five?

When people ask me how old Evangeline is, I consider just lying and saying she is two. That way everything about Evie will be more appropriate and comfortable for all involved.

But today I am thinking about the number five. Evie has been alive five years. And they were hard earned years: two-and-a-half  in an orphanage in Ukraine and the rest with us here in the States. Evie has survived more in her little life than I can ever fathom.

And yet, she has a smile for me today of all days, on her birthday.

So I say happy FIFTH birthday to my youngest daughter. Congratulations, honey. You've come so far. And I can't wait to see what God has for you next.

(And stay tuned for birthday party pictures in the next few days :).

It came and went

I just looked at the calendar this morning and realized that Polly's stroke date, October 17th, came and went this year. It's been two years since she had a stroke and was diagnosed with Moyamoya disease and underwent two brain surgeries to combat Moyamoya's nasty artery thinning abilities.

 Polly after her first brain surgery for Moyamoya in December of '09

Last year, my body sensed the date coming. All that week I walked around the house with my shoulders pressed upwards towards my ears from stress. This year, instead, I've been thinking about querying agents for the book I wrote about Polly, and about Evie's birthday coming up, and about buying candy for the weekend and catching up on laundry.

I didn't think about the stroke day. Not once.

Moyamoya will always be a part of our lives. Another stroke could pop up at any time.

But I am so thankful that Polly is here, today, stroke free, probably raising cane right now in her mainstreamed kindergarten class.

I'm thankful for her health and that at least this year, October 17th was just another date on the calendar.

Polly this year on her first day of Kindergarten